


The Twelve Days of Outlaw Queen

by Aussi18, Bolt41319



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-18 03:57:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 23,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21921391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aussi18/pseuds/Aussi18, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bolt41319/pseuds/Bolt41319
Summary: Written for OQ Advent 2019, a shameless OQ lovefest collaboration by Bolt41319 and Aussi18 that includes six one shots rated PG-E and six artworks, one for each of the twelve days of Christmas.
Relationships: Evil Queen | Regina Mills/Robin Hood
Comments: 25
Kudos: 37





	1. The First Day of Outlaw Queen

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Holidays! Each chapter of this story is set in a different OQ universe, and are all separate from one another. We hope that you enjoy!

**_On the First day of Outlaw Queen…_ **

It’s his own  _ ridiculous  _ fault that they’re back at the Christmas tree farm in the first place, picking out their now second tree. 

Their first Christmas in Storybrooke was supposed to be something special. She and Robin had agreed to give the boys a wonderful holiday, filled with enough Christmas magic that it could outweigh her own. Henry and Roland had sat down and marked off every tradition each of their families had that they wanted to do, even if some of them weren’t  _ that  _ safe. 

Like a Christmas tree, decorated with real candles. 

She’d honestly thought they were kidding. 

Robin was the first to mention it, and Roland tacked right on, insisting that a Christmas Tree was just a tree unless it had candles on it. She had misheard them both, thought they had meant a real tree, not something artificial, and while her allergies would wreak havoc on her body for the month of December, she could let her boys have their tree. 

That was until Robin had pulled out a lighter and started putting up candles. On a tree. In their  _ home.  _

_ “Oh no. No, absolutely not,” she tells him, and with one slow, deliberate swirl of her wrist, each candle on the tree blows out. “This is not happening.”  _

_ Robin turns and looks at her, surprise etched across his face. “You said we could have a real tree.”  _

_ “Right, a real  _ **_tree_ ** _ , one that you’ve cut down with an axe and drug out of the woods. Not one with candles on it. Robin, that’s a fire hazard.”  _

_ “Rubbish,” he grumbles, putting his pack of candles down on the coffee table. “Roland and I have always put candles on our tree, and we never had any problems.”  _

_ She sucks in a deep breath and shakes her head, staring at him. “This is a house Robin, not a tent in the woods. We aren’t able to just leave candles lit in the house and just hope that it isn’t going to burn down.”  _

_ He starts to argue, opens his mouth with his finger raised, but he stops, looking around at the vast architecture of their home and he sighs. “Alright, you have a point. But I’m putting a tree up outside then, deal? Roland and I get our tree outside and we’ll use those blasted string lights inside.”  _

_ She’s still wary of the tree outside, cringes at the thought of having lit candles outside of her home, but Robin comes up and wraps an arm around her, tugging her close to his chest, the mistletoe hanging in the doorway of her living room looming overhead. “It’s going to be fine, darling,” he tells her, leaning in to press a kiss to her jaw, the curve of her cheek, and then finally her lips. “The candles represent life in the dead of winter. It’s a beautiful tradition, one that the Merry Men and I have carried out for years. Even when Roland was little we would each light a candle and set them up on the tree, then stare at it in the night sky and tell stories of times when we weren’t pillaging and stealing. Just try it?” he asks, kissing her again. Her hand comes up and curls against his neck, his lips soft against her own, a contrast to the rough stubble of his beard. “I promise, you’ll think it’s beautiful.”  _

And it was beautiful, as they each lit a candle and told stories of their favorite Christmas memories. Roland’s excitement that cold December night had made the tradition worth reliving, and Henry had looked beyond excited to place his own candle up on their tree. 

Until she had awoken later in the month to the smell of smoke, and the bright bonfire of their Christmas tree illuminating through her bedroom window. 

_ “Shit, shit,  _ **_shit_ ** _ ,” she stammers, reaching out to slap Robin’s bare chest with her palm. “Robin, Robin wake up, the tree is on fire.”  _

_ “Mm,” he grumbles, rolling over in their dangerously comfortable silk sheets, burying his face into her pillow. “Is there a partridge in our pear tree? Go back to sleep darling, it’s barely midnight.”  _

_ She shoves him harder this time, scrambling out of bed, tugging his maroon hoodie over her naked body. “Fire, Robin,  _ **_fire_ ** _ ,” she repeats pulling her pajama pants up from the floor and tugging them on over her toned, bare legs.  _ **** _ It takes him longer than she wants but he finally recognizes what she’s saying, shoots up from the bed, the sheets pooling around his waist.  _

_ “Did you say fire?”  _

_ “Oh god,” she groans, pulling her hair up into a messy ponytail at the top of her head. “Get out of bed and help me. You insisted that we use real candles on our Christmas tree this year and now the entire thing is on fire.  _ **_This_ ** _ is why I don’t listen to your ideas.”  _

_ He rushes up, hopping on one leg as he pulls his boxers on and rushes behind her out the door.  _

_ They run out her back porch and down, eyes falling upon the tree burning brightly in her yard. The amber flames are stretching well above the second floor of the house, the wax long melted from the candles that had once sat perched regally on the branches of the tree. The limbs of the tree are black and Robin is running toward the side of the house, drawing the hose out from beside the porch, twisting it on.  _

_ “You have to get it to tamp down while I figure out how to magic this out,” she tells him, trying desperately to get some sort of water from her palms. The fire is bigger than she’d anticipated when she’d seen it from inside, and while she knows there’s enough magic dwelling in the pits of her soul somewhere, she had used a decent amount of it earlier to tease Robin, to tie him down to the bed and draw her lips over his smooth skin. It had exhausted her more than she realized and now she’s cursing herself for wasting it on something…  _

_ Though it was  _ **_so_ ** _ worth it to see him tied down and writhing on their bed.  _

_ Now though, she has a little bout of regret as she can’t get the magic to fully come from her fingertips. She stretches her palms out before her, the magic sucking up the brunt of the fire that continues to rage. The heat emulates off of the flames, making her cough as she steps closer, trying to bring in as much as she can. Robin comes up behind her, the stream of the hose steady on the base of the fire.  _

_ Together they put the flames out and as soon as the harsh embers are extinguished, she collapses against him, her head dropping to his shoulder, chest heaving against his back. It takes a moment for her to catch her breath, the strong magic swirling inside of her, taking out every ounce of energy she had.  _

_ “I swear, that never happened in the Enchanted Forest,” he tells her, shifting so she drops down into his lap, his hand brushing the curve of her back beneath his sweatshirt.  _

_ “Some trees have been sprayed,” she sighs, dropping her head to his shoulder. “It’s going to make it more flammable.”  _

_ They head back into the house, the carcass of the tree left smouldering and forgotten on the back lawn.  _

“Maybe we should use those twisty lights you have inside,” Robin says as they peruse the Christmas tree farm, trailing his hand over the crisp branches and the smooth needles of the tree. 

She stops dead, staring at him as he continues on, the boys far ahead of them playing a riveting game of hide and seek between the luscious trees. “Seriously?” she says with a laugh. 

Robin turns and she notices the red tint to his cheeks, the blush rising as he ducks his head sheepishly and turns to look back at the tree. “I mean, with the whole  _ fire  _ incident and all, I’d assume you aren’t the biggest fan of real candles,” he says, stepping back toward her, drawing her closer and wrapping his hands around her waist. 

“Not the biggest fan?” She teases, her arms coming up and sneaking under his own to wrap around his back. She steps into him, her chest flush against his, breathing him in around the natural forest scent surrounding them. “That may be the understatement of the century.” 

“Well,” he drawls, leaning in to press a chaste kiss to her lips. “What was it you said the other day? This is why you don’t listen to my ideas?” 

“Sometimes they’re good,” she counters, her fingertips making light circles against the fabric of his vest. “But I think candles in a tree was one of your poorer ideas.” 

He gives her a smirk and shrugs, then leans down, kissing her as the wind swirls around them, the cool air and remnants of their burned tree long forgotten as his tongue slips against her own and their children play merrily behind them. 


	2. The Second Day of Outlaw Queen




	3. The Third Day of Outlaw Queen

**_On the Third day of Outlaw Queen…_ **

He’s been agonizing for weeks over what to get her for Christmas.

She’s a difficult woman to shop for; there is little she needs, and if asked, she’s certain to tell you she doesn’t need anything - that she already has more than she could ever ask for, in the gift of friends and family that surround her. 

She has a soft soul inside, a sweet, kind soul, one that is infinitely good though she tries to hide it behind a gruff exterior. Robin wants to show her how much she means to him, how much she means to his entire family this holiday, because he’s quite certain that without her sarcastic, no nonsense push in the right direction, he’d have never had the courage to ask the Mayor of Storybrooke to be his wife. 

It was Granny who had helped him find the courage to do all that. And now, Robin wants to thank her.

But the old dog is  _ hard _ to shop for, to say the least. She won’t give him a hint about what she might actually need, and she’s stubbornly glued to the concept that she doesn’t want for anything other than good company, and perhaps the occasional sip of gin to go along with it. She gets her liquor from Leroy though, so he can’t go out and buy her that, there’s no point in even trying to get something better - it simply doesn’t exist - so Robin’s been stuck for ages on what to get her, wracking his brain for days and grilling Ruby over it every chance he gets. She finally snapped at him to leave her the hell alone about it two days ago though, so now he’s completely on his own, and he’s got to come up with something right now, because today is Christmas Eve, and he and Regina are on their way to the Christmas Party that Granny’s throwing for her select friends and family at the Diner tonight, and he  _ still _ hasn’t got her gift.

Regina’s already secured her gift for Granny. In true, Queenly fashion, she picked hers up weeks ago, along with all her other gifts (she’s always prepared, can’t stand the unknown), and whatever she got is apparently something quite special, though she won’t tell Robin what it is. All she’ll say is that it’s the perfect gift, and that she doesn’t want to ruin the surprise, so Robin had better make sure that whatever he’s getting Granny is good too.

So the pressure is on.

They stopped off at the Storybrooke Mall on their way to the party after sending Roland on ahead with Henry. The children had been eager to go and Snow had been just as anxious to receive them, which Robin is grateful for now, seeing how busy the stores are. People are everywhere, different variations of holiday music blaring through the speakers in each store, the faint ringing of jingle bells heard from just about every corner. He and Regina had split up upon entry - she needed refills on a few cosmetics while he went off in search of Granny’s gift. After just barely squeezing past a group of rather terrifying elderly ladies who were clawing and pecking at each other like three french hens over the last crockpot, he finds himself standing in the homeware section of a large department store, staring desperately at a wall of casserole dishes, cookie sheets, air-bake pans, and all sorts of other fancy-looking stuff to bake with, when his eyes finally land on it. The perfect gift.

He knows it immediately, knows that this is absolutely what he wants to give her, the thing he’s been looking for, hoping for - the item that he can get for Granny that will actually be of use to her. Something she wants  _ and _ needs. Something that will put a smile on her face when she uses it, will make her think of the good she’s done for the Mills-Locksley family, and all the love she has brought into their lives, while making her life a bit more convenient too.

See, everyone in the Mills-Locksley house loves Regina’s lasagna - loves it with a serious passion - but it’s rare they can find the time to have it, what with two kids in every extracurricular activity there is, a Queen/Mayor for a mother who refuses to freeze anything because “it doesn’t taste right,” and Robin heading up the Parks and Recreation Department. So Regina had finally broken down last year and shared her secret red-pepper flake lasagna recipe with Granny after making the old woman swear an oath never to tell a soul, and now when they’d like to have a nice Italian dinner, instead of a run to the grocery store, hours of preparation, baking, and clean-up time crammed in between athletics, clubs, homework, jobs, and family time, it’s simply a phone call away. In return, Granny’s reputation for being able to create a decent Italian dish has been wholly restored.

The gift Robin has found is a heavy porcelain casserole dish, crafted specifically for making  _ three  _ types of lasagna at once - with three separate compartments for each variety. It’s brilliant, he thinks, because now Granny can make that sausage lasagna Henry prefers at the same time she makes the spinach one Regina likes, while he and Roland share the extra-cheesy chicken (which of course will benefit other patrons too, and reduce Granny’s workload from three pans down to one).

This must be fate too, because there is only one pan left on the shelf, like it’s been waiting for him to come and collect it. Robin grins and reaches for it, confident in his selection.

At the same time his fingers curl around one side of the pan, suddenly another hand appears out of nowhere and grabs a hold of the other side. Robin tugs on it before he even thinks and says, “Sorry, mate, this one’s taken,” at the same time a woman tugs back and says, “Excuse me, that’s mine.”

Blue eyes meet golden-brown across the top of the gift, and Robin furrows his brow in complete confusion.

“Regina?”

Her eyes widen for a split second before she schools her features into a calm mask.

“Oh,” she says, giving him a soft, sweet smile but suspiciously  _ not _ letting go of the lasagna pan, “Hello, dear. I didn’t realize it was you.”

Robin glances down purposely at their hands on the gift, then back up at her and says, “Yeah, I just found my gift to give to Granny.” He gives it an experimental pull, but again, she doesn’t let go.

“I already have this one, I’m afraid,” she drawls, stepping a bit closer and giving the pan a tug of her own, to which he does  _ not  _ give in. Her eyes narrow and she amends, “Robin, I clearly had it first.”

He laughs. “No, you didn’t,” he starts to challenge her, then changes his argument to, “What do you need this for? Can’t we just pick one up for you after the holiday? You know how long I’ve been looking for a gift for Granny.”

It’s there for barely a flicker, but Robin has spent so much time looking into Regina’s eyes, reading her expressions, trying to learn her, that he immediately recognizes the look that flashes across her face, though she tries valiantly to hide it from him.  _ Panic _ .

Then she totally gives herself away by nervously tucking her hair behind her cute little ear with her free hand and saying, “No, um, I need it now. I’m planning on using it.”

Robin grins, his smile growing as she tries to stare him down but knows he’s seen through her.

“Well, well, well,” he drawls, “Looks like I’m not the only one who doesn’t have a gift for Granny,” he keeps his voice light and teasing, knowing if he’s right, she’s going to get defensive. “You’ve been putting me on this whole time, haven’t you, darling? You’ve been just as desperate for a gift as I have.”

Regina sets her jaw and tips up her chin. “I have a gift.”

“Do not.”

“I do too.”

“Do not,” he gives the casserole dish a little tug to prove his point, and Regina immediately pulls it back toward her.

“I do too!” she snaps.

“Yeah?” he challenges, “Really? Tell me then, Love of my Life, what gift did you get for Granny?”

“I…” she pauses, tugs on the pan and says, “Robin, this is silly, let go.”

“I’ll let go as soon as you tell me what you got Granny for her Christmas gift,” he bargains, knowing full well that she hasn’t gotten her anything yet.

Regina huffs out a breath and snaps, “You’re being a jerk.”

Laughing, he says, “Well, at least I’m not a liar.”

She raises her eyebrows indignantly and suddenly, their tugging match gets a bit more heated.

“Give me the dish,” she commands.

“Why?”

“Because I said so,” she growls, pulling hard enough to make Robin step toward her, but he still doesn’t let go. 

“That’s not a reason,” he says obstinately. “Unlike you, I have a very good reason for needing it. Give me one, single reason you need it, and perhaps I’ll consider letting you have it.”

She scowls hotly at him, glances at their hands, then straightens her back and fixes him with a glare that he can only describe as pure regal arrogance and says, “Because I’m the Queen.”

He bursts out laughing.

“Really?” he wheezes, bending forward as he shakes with laughter, but  _ not _ letting go of the gift. “That’s what you’re going with? 

She looks affronted, angry, and now a bit nervous.

“ _ And _ the Mayor,” she adds, pursing her lips, and when he merely laughs harder, “ _ And your wife!” _

Robin uses his free hand to wipe his eyes, where they have watered with how hard he’s cracking up at her ridiculous reasoning. Like  _ hell _ he’s giving in because of her fancy-pants titles. She knows better than to pull rank with him. He makes a mental note to remind her of this tonight when they’re tangled up between the sheets and he’s got her teetering right on the edge, panting those little high-pitched gasps in his ear and begging him to make her come. He’ll remind her of this moment and how she tried to force him to cave simply because  _ she’s the Queen and the Mayor _ . He licks his lips in anticipation and smirks - oh, that’s going to be such fun.

“Well,” he finally reasons, “I’m afraid I can’t hand this over based on that exceptionally weak argument.”

“But I had it first,” she half-groans, half-whines, looking up at him through her long, thick eyelashes, her almond eyes imploring and just a touch desperate. His heart automatically flips over in response, and he nearly loosens his grip on the gift before he catches himself. 

Oh, she’s good at this game.

Robin cocks his head to the side and shrugs, doesn’t bother to argue and says instead, “Tough luck, darling. You knew I was a thief when you met me.”

They stare at one another for a second, each waiting for the other to give in, and when neither one does, things take yet another turn.

Regina pulls on the pan, and he doesn’t release it, tugs it back toward him. So she pulls  _ harder _ , but Robin still refuses to let go.

“Seriously?” he asks in disbelief, starting to get annoyed. 

“I could ask you the same,” she huffs, adding her other hand to the casserole dish when Robin pulls it roughly back toward him.

“This is your own fault,” he tries to reason, “You said you already had a gift. If you’d just admit that you don’t, perhaps I’d be willing to go in on it together.”

“No way - I’m not sharing this with you,” she snaps indignantly. “Not after the way you’re acting.”

“The way  _ I’m _ acting?!” he scoffs, pulling hard on the dish. “You’re the one who won’t see reason!”

“I’m” - she tugs hard on the dish - “Being” - Robin pulls back - “Perfectly” - she wrenches it back, twisting this time, but he holds on - “Reasonable,” she jerks the pan violently, but he holds fast, “Let go, you manhandling thief!” 

“No,” he snaps, pulling hard, his temper way up in response to her name calling. 

Regina pulls back.

“Let go!” she orders, again, her voice rising, cheeks red, fire in her eyes.

“Never,” Robin’s voice is husky and low now, his teeth are clenched, knuckles white where he grips the pan with two hands.

She stomps her foot, bares her teeth at him and pulls with what Robin is sure must be close to all of her strength, but he clings to the dish for all he’s worth. 

“Let. Go.” she growls.

He narrows his eyes. “I’d rather die than let go.”

He wrenches the pan hard back toward him, but something shifts between them - he sees it in her golden eyes - sees the mistake he’s made in his phrasing. It’s the old fear, the old pain resurfacing, and he catches it perhaps even before she does - but it’s impossible to react in time.

Regina lets go.

The pan comes flying back at him much too quickly for Robin to stop it, the large dish streaking through the air, ricocheting against the grip of his hand like a slingshot and slamming into him before he can flinch or even try to deflect the blow. He takes it full force to the center of his face, the pain searing hot and nearly blinding, and he instantly knows that every bone in his nose has been crushed beneath the wallop of the heavy casserole dish. 

But ironically, that’s not at all what he’s worried about.

He can already hear her calling out to him - panicked, guilt stricken, terrified - can hear the shake in Regina’s voice, the horror over what has just happened.

Robin’s not sure how he manages it - it must be shock that allows him to ignore the agonizing pain and the blood that positively pours from his face, causing him to sway on his feet - but he’s consumed with the need to show her he’s alright. She’s probably going to think he’s an idiot, but somehow, someway, he manages to cover his bashed up nose with one hand, raise the lasagna pan triumphantly with the other and rasp, while he spits out a bit of blood, “Victory at last!”

“Robin,” she gasps out, her eyes wide, her hands trembling as she reaches out toward him. “Your nose—” 

“Is a bloody mess,” he growls, covering his face. “But I won,” he laughs, coughing a little. 

There’s blood everywhere, pouring out from his nose down the center of his nice, button down shirt. His nose is numb, a dull ache spreading each time he twitches or tries to crack a smile. The look on her face is pure panic but he still wants to gloat, still wants to rub it in her face that  _ he  _ has gotten Granny the perfect gift, and  _ she _ is going to show up empty handed. 

“I think you’ll need to get me a new shirt while we’re here, and then we need to get to the party,” he tells her, trying to wipe the blood up from his chin, and the moment he moves his hand she makes a horrified face and covers up her own mouth. 

“That looks— oh god, no, no— we need to get you to a hospital.” 

“Rubbish,” he laughs, wincing at the lift of his cheeks. He’ll be fine. “I’ve done much worse in the Enchanted Forest. Once, John and I got into quite a little tussle with Nottingham and the bastard broke my arm, and we still got the best of him. This is nothing.” 

“There’s blood all over you, and your nose is all red and mangled,” she winces, stepping up closer, her hands outstretched to take the pan from his hands. She wraps her nimble fingers around the ceramic but he tightens his grip, tugging it back toward him. 

“Oh no you don’t—” 

Regina shakes her head and gets that glare in her eye, the one that he’s seen far too often when he  _ knows  _ she’s not playing around anymore. “Dammit Robin, just give me the pan so we can fix your nose,” she argues, and with one swift flick of her wrist, the pan disappears from his grasp and deposits from his hand into her own. “It’s definitely broken.” 

“It’s merely a flesh wound. Just fix it with your magic.” 

“There’s so many little bones in your nose, so many things that could go wrong. I— I don’t think I should. We need to go to a hospital.” 

Robin shakes his head but gasps at the pain, trying to suck up his discomfort and stay strong. “And trust Whale? He’s a crock. You’re much more talented than him. Just do that little wrist flick thing you do so well, and we’ll be on our way.” 

Regina rolls her eyes and shakes her head, coming up to carefully brush her hand over his cheek where the blood hasn’t quite reached yet, tipping his head back. Her fingers are so smooth, so comforting against the stubble of his skin and the moment stills him, brings him out of his victorious gloating and into reality. 

His nose  _ hurts _ , the bloody bastard. 

He’s hesitant to admit that she’s right, that his nose is positively wrecked and the hospital is a much more sound idea than some quick magic and a dinner with their extended family. But then she swirls her hand in a beautiful, fluid motion, and the blood seeping down his face and through his shirt slowly disappears, the reality and seriousness of the situation sets in, and he knows they don’t really have much choice. 

She must see his grimace because she gets that beautifully smug look on her face and steps up closer, barely letting her thumb caress his cheek bone so she can tilt his head and get a good look at him. “Are you going to listen now?” she asks, and though her voice is barely a whisper he can hear the tremor as she speaks. 

“Fine,” he grumbles, reaching out and pulling the pan back from her grip. “But I ‘ave something to do first.” 

Robin ignores the dull throbbing in his nose and turns, heads toward the front of the store, fishing his wallet out of his pocket. He feels quite pleased as he pays for the gift, glancing over his shoulder every few minutes to watch Regina’s frustrated face, her arms crossed over her chest, eyes rolling when he opts to have the store clerk wrap the gift for him. 

“I had to make sure it was wrapped nicely for Granny. She’s so appreciative, and she deserves so much.” He can’t even say it without laughing, his wife’s face much too annoyed for him to be serious right now. 

His nose is absolutely broken and he knows that after all this is over and they’re back home, she’s going to put him through the ringer and tell him  _ exactly _ how ridiculous he was being, but it’ll be worth it. 

The young girl behind the counter finishes wrapping the gift and passes it across to him, wishing him a Merry Christmas as he bids her the same. 

“Can we go get your nose fixed now, or do you have some more time sensitive, all important business that you have to attend to?” Regina’s tapping her foot, her arms still firmly crossed over her chest, and her cheeks are flushed an adorable pink. He knows she’s irritated with him, that small bit of the Evil Queen still left in her worming it’s way out as he gets closer and closer, his free hand coming up to brush against her bicep. 

She grunts out an annoyed breath and turns, storming out of the store. 

Their car ride starts out eerily silent and he shouldn’t gloat, should keep his mouth shut and let her stew in her anger but it’s Christmas, and he’s the injured one so he should get to egg it on a  _ little  _ bit longer. 

“You know, if you hadn’t have lied about getting Granny a gift already, none of this would’ve happened.” 

“I— you— you’re really going to start on this right now?” 

He shrugs and chuckles, his fingers toying with the edge of the wrapping paper on the casserole dish. “It’s true though. We could have gone in on the gift for Granny 50/50, but you insisted that you had the perfect present and that I was out of luck.” 

“I  _ did  _ have the perfect present,” Regina argues, pulls the car into the hospital parking lot then grumbles, “But then Snow told me that she had gotten her the same thing, and I wasn’t about to give her something that  _ she _ was going to give her.”

Suddenly Robin feels like a prat for putting up such a fight over the gift. He should have known Regina would have had a good reason for needing it - he knows how sensitive she still is about her issues with Snow and he wishes she had just come clean about it.

They get inside and there’s a surprisingly short wait - he’s not sure if it’s because he’s with the Mayor, who’s giving everyone her best evil eye, or if it’s simply because there aren’t that many people in the waiting room, but either way things move along quite quickly. Robin soon finds himself ushered into a room with an x-ray machine, and after a series of turning his head this way and that, he’s led into another smaller room. 

He’d expected it to be an exam room, but it looks more like a conference room, with a little table and three chairs, so he takes one and sits quietly until a man and woman, both dressed in khaki pants and Christmas sweaters, join him.

“Uh, are you the doctors then?” he asks, his nose throbbing.

“The doctor is checking out your x-rays, Mr. Locksley,” the man says, then introduces himself, “I’m Marlin, and this is Dory. We’d like to ask you a few questions while we wait, if you don’t mind?”

Robin furrows his brow in confusion. “What about?”

“Well, that’s quite a sock to the nose you’ve taken,” the woman says, her big blue eyes wide as she leans forward, her freckled face openly curious as she looks him over. “Could you tell us how that happened?”

“Why?” Robin is annoyed. Who the hell are these people to barge into his personal life?

“Easy there, fella,” Marlin says carefully, his voice full of concern. “We just want to help you, Robin. Can I call you Robin? You know, the hospital has seen a lot of you over the last few months, and we’re just here to listen, to hear your side of things, to make sure you’re okay.”

“To make sure I’m…” And then it dawns on him. Oh, Christ. They think this is some sort of domestic situation. “I’m completely fine,” he clarifies. “This was an accident.”

Marlin and Dory exchange a knowing look.

“No, really,” he argues, “It was my fault actually, if I’d just given Regina the pan like she’d asked, none of this would’ve happened.”

Marlin’s eyebrows raise and Dory tips her head to the side. “Does that happen often?” she asks softly, “If you don’t give Regina something she wants, does she get angry?”

“What? No!” Robin defends, “It’s not like that. I didn’t mean it like  _ that _ , I just meant we were arguing, and I took it too far.”

“You don’t have to defend your actions to us,” Marlin, nods understandingly, “No one here thinks any of this is your fault. Regina is an extremely powerful woman. We’ve all seen what she’s capable of over the years.”

Robin’s jaw drops open, and a white-hot surge of protectiveness rushes up his spine.

“She’s certainly capable of saving your arses,” he snaps, sitting back rather forcefully in his chair. “You know, this is so typical - why is it the first time something goes wrong, everyone is always so eager to point the finger at Regina?”

“But this isn’t the first time, now is it?” asks Marlin, opening a manilla folder Robin hadn’t noticed before.

“Of course it is,” he snaps.

“A month ago you were treated and received antibiotics for…sorry I can’t remember exactly,” Dory looks down and reads through her own manilla folder for a second, “scratches and bite marks to the neck, chest, and back?”

Robin’s feels his face and ears blush bright red. “How do you know about that?! Where did you get my medical information? Isn’t that supposed to be private?”

“Yes, of course it is, don’t worry,” Marlin reassures him with a sympathetic smile, “this is just between us. But when the doctor has a concern, sometimes that information needs to be shared with people who are in a position to help you.”

“I don’t need your bloody help,” Robin growls, looking at the ceiling, embarrassed as hell. 

“Would you mind explaining then—” 

“It’s none of your business,” he snaps. 

Robin is absolutely not about to tell them that Regina indeed gave him those wounds. Not after he worked  _ so  _ hard for them. He  _ earned  _ them,  _ begged  _ her on his knees for  _ hours  _ for them,  _ pleaded  _ with her to tie him down and flog him into perfect submission before she rode him all night long, her sharp, french-tipped nails and straight white teeth the only thing keeping her from slipping off their sweat slicked bodies as they fucked and fucked and  _ fucked _ until they were exhausted, until they positively collapsed, completely drained from the sweet release of their lovemaking. 

_ Hell _ no, he’s not going to tell them about that.

“We know this is difficult, Robin,” Dory placates, “But if you help us understand, maybe we can help.”

Robin grinds his teeth, winces and says quietly, “We uh, like it rough sometimes.”

“Could you tell us… let me see here,” she looks down at her notes, then back up, “about the incident with the handcuffs?”

_ Oh god _ .

Robin huffs, his embarrassment only growing. “It’s quite obvious, isn’t it?” he grumbles.

“I’m afraid not,” Marlin shrugs, looking to Dory, who shakes her head as if she has no idea what Robin might be referring to.

“Look,” he groans, hoping to get this over with quickly, “We were being… intimate, and the handcuffs I was wearing became a bit too tight, but I didn’t want to stop, so I didn’t. And when we were… satisfied, I realized they had cut into my wrists a bit, and I didn’t want to make Regina feel bad about it, because she worries and she would have felt  _ terrible _ . So I just popped over later on and got some bandages and ointment and the like. It wasn’t a big deal.”

“Does Regina restrain you often?” Dory asks carefully.

“Does she… I… well, I suppose, but, it’s only when I ask her to, or, er…” he fumbles. “The fuck does any of this have to do with my broken nose?” he asks.

“Would you tell us about the concussion you were seen for, back in November, Robin?” Marlin jumps in.

Robin’s nose throbs painfully and he feels like he’s never been more humiliated in his life. All this over simply trying to purchase a gift for Granny. He’s certainly learned his lesson about sharing with his wife.

Robin thinks back on the incident Marlin is referring to. He’s not quite sure how to explain this one without throwing Regina under the bus. They’d been at home when it happened - Regina had just sucked his cock on the landing of their staircase; at his urging she had gotten down on her knees and used that perfect, beautiful,  _ expert _ mouth of hers on him, her plump, dark red lips and hot, slick tongue laving all along the sensitive head of him, slipping tightly up and down his shaft, one of her soft hands massaging his balls while the other grasped him tightly at the base, pumping faster, faster,  _ faster _ . She was  _ perfection _ , her big brown eyes glancing up at him with that confident little glint,  _ oh god _ , she always gets to him with her expressive eyes, and it hadn’t been long until he’d been filling her mouth as she swallowed around him, her hands working him through his release as she carefully took every drop down her throat like the fucking goddess she is.

It was perhaps the best blow job of his life - he’s sure he thinks that every time she sucks him off - but still, this was definitely in the top three. He’d  _ just barely _ tucked himself back into his underwear when she’d turned to head upstairs, ready for her turn, and Robin had taken a steadying step backward, forgetting that he was standing at the top of the stairs. And then he had fallen, arse over elbow, all the way down to the bottom of the bloody staircase, Regina’s terrified scream echoing in his ears just before he was knocked unconscious when his head smacked against the marble tile of the foyer floor.

“I fell down the stairs,” Robin says, cringing at how that sounds. He feels like he’s on an episode of Law and Order, SVU. But then, if Olivia Benson walks through that door, he supposes that wouldn’t be such a bad thing.

“Robin,” Marlin tries, “Surely you can see how this looks.”

“I don’t really care how it looks,” he shrugs. “Nothing is wrong, I’m fine and I don’t need help, other than getting my nose taken care of.” Marlin and Dory give him matching looks of disapproval. “Oh, and my wife is nothing short of perfect,” he adds, as they start to gather their things, “And I’m happy to have more than a conversation with anyone who says otherwise.”

Dory reaches out and leaves her business card on the table, saying, “Here’s my card Robin, if you change your mind. Call anytime, day or night.”

“Thanks, but I won’t be calling,” he rolls his eyes, just as a nurse finally comes through the door and squeezes past the two clownfish trying to work their way out of the room. 

He meets with the doctor after that, (thankfully it’s  _ not _ Whale) who administers some sort of numbing agent and then fools with his nose for a bit, realigning it and then shoving splints and packing material and what have you all up in it until apparently it’s sufficiently dressed. He and Regina exit the hospital hand in hand with a bag full of antibiotics, and when they get to the car, he immediately pulls out the gift for Granny and writes Regina’s name in above his in the “From” spot.

“Had a change of heart?” she says curiously, watching the road instead of his face as she directs the car onto their street.

“Just a reminder of where my heart ought to have been in the first place,” he smiles ruefully and takes her hand, pulls it up to his lips and presses a soft kiss to the back of it. 

“What do you mean?”

“When we were arguing about the gift in the store, you said I should give it to you, because you’re the  _ Queen _ , and the  _ Mayor _ , and my  _ Wife _ ,” he smirks as she cringes at their petty argument, and he squeezes her hand reassuringly. “But really, I should have just given it to you because I love you.”

She smiles that sweet little smile she only gives him when she’s all vulnerable and adorable because he’s told her that, but then it slowly fades and she sighs, “I should have agreed to share it.”

“You should’ve told me about Snow’s gift,” he corrects.

Regina makes an annoyed face, and Robin knows it’s not for him, it’s for Snow; even though she’s made amends with her step-daughter, it doesn’t mean the girl doesn’t drive her absolutely crazy sometimes.

A few moments of comfortable silence passes between them, both of them reflecting on the recent events, until Robin asks, “So what do you think? Will Granny like our gift more than Snow’s?”

Regina smirks. “I think so, but if she doesn’t, maybe we can say you were mugged and the original gift was stolen, so this is all we could come up with at the last minute.”

He laughs, kisses the back of her hand again and catches her beautiful dark brown eyes across the car, “Well, you know what I always say - the best things in life are all about timing.”


	4. The Fourth Day of Outlaw Queen




	5. The Fifth Day of Outlaw Queen




	6. The Sixth Day of Outlaw Queen

**_On the Sixth day of Outlaw Queen…_ **

It’s freezing in her apartment. 

The blizzard has swept through Hyperion Heights, strong enough that Roni had been forced to shut the bar down at seven and trudge back home through the snow, her thick winter jacket wrapped tightly around her. She wasn’t exactly upset about the free night off but coming back to her dark, icy apartment was entirely worse. 

“Shit,” she grumbles, pushing inside, lighting the candle on her kitchen counter. She lights a few more around the room, giving her enough light to check her thermostat. The power has to have been out for a few hours now, and she feels the shiver run though her when she sees the temperature is only 40 degrees. 

She heads into her room and tears through the contents of her drawers, pulling out as many layers as she can. She tugs on her running leggings, then her fleece leggings, pulling her thickest pair of sweatpants on overtop of them before swiping through her closest, pulling out two long sleeves and her sweatshirt. 

Complete with a beanie on her head and wool socks on her feet, she settles down on the couch, a bottle of wine in one hand and the new book she picked up from the store clutched securely in the other. She tugs the blankets from the back of the couch over her, trying desperately to tuck herself into them as snug as she can. 

It’s still cold. 

She pours herself a glass of red wine and snuggles down under the thick fleece blanket, the alcohol doing nothing to warm the steady chill deep within her bones. There’s a candle lit on the table beside her, a soft Christmas scent wafting through the air around her, the sweet smell of pine matching the snow falling outside her window. 

She spends a little less than an hour there, sipping the wine, aimlessly flipping through her novel, when she hears laughter echoing through the air vents above her head. 

This happens often, the sound of Roland’s laughter coming through, of his adorable squealing when his father tickles him or does something silly. She hears the two of them talking though, Roland’s voice powering over his fathers, talking about making hot chocolate and turning on a Christmas movie. 

Oh.  _ Oh,  _ they have power. 

She doesn’t even hesitate, climbing up off of the couch, walking toward the front door, grabbing the bag of donuts that someone had brought her this afternoon at the bar. She knows how Roland loves his sweets and how his father seems to be sweet on  _ her _ , and she hopes that she can use it to her advantage, snag that big, thick, weighted blanket she’d seen on their ottoman the last time she was up there asking for help with her squeaky door. 

She slips her boots on and heads up the staircase, the heat from the fourth floor hitting her directly when she opens the door from the stairwell. It sends a shiver through her but it feels so good that she just stands there for a moment, letting the warmth soak into her skin, letting it still her rapidly beating heart. 

Roni reaches apartment 4B, directly above her own, and she lifts her hand, rapping against the wooden frame. There’s Christmas decorations around the door— garland wrapped in bright, twinkling lights, a wreath hung centered on the door frame and a wooden goose, dressed in a ridiculously adorable little Santa outfit placed to the left of the door. 

“Just a moment!” she hears Locksley’s thick British accent coming from behind the frame. She and Locksley had spent bits of time together here and there, running into one another in the elevator, little chats in the lobby. She hadn’t bothered to learn his first name— found out who he was from the  _ R. Locksley _ on the outside of his mailbox when he moved into the new building four months ago, and since he never corrected her on it, the use of his last name had stuck. He was a patron of her bar on the nights that Roland would spend with his aunt, would sit in the far corner and nurse a glass of whiskey. They talked more often than not, trading stories of their pasts, stories of Roland’s funny antics and wild imagination. 

He’s one of the kindest people she thinks she’s ever met, practically bending over backwards to talk to her each time she runs into him. His accent had always been something that intrigued her though, that, and the fact that the language he used wasn’t all that common, but she had chalked it up to him just being a little… different. 

The door swings open and he looks her over immediately, his eyes meeting hers finally. “Hey there,” he smiles. “How’re you today?” 

“Freezing” she says, pursing her lips and crossing her arms over her chest, the bag of donuts securely snug under her arm. “I could hear you and Roland through the vents—” 

“Sorry,” he blurts, running his hands through his hair. “I try telling him that we have to be quiet, but he doesn’t quite listen when it’s snowing and he’s excited. I’ll get him to shush, Milady—”

“You use weird vocabulary, you know that?” she asks, brushing past him into the warmth of his apartment. She shouldn’t just invite herself in but the temptation of being surrounded by heat is far too strong, and she doesn’t bother to stop herself. “And I’m not here because of your adorable son. By the way, did you know there’s a goose dressed like Santa by your door? What is that, part of your six geese a’ laying?” 

He chuckles and shuts the door behind her, and she catches him eyeing the bag of sweets. “As far as my vocabulary, I’ve been told worse,” he shrugs, turning toward her. “And as for the goose, Roland’s school had a holiday store where the kids could buy presents for their parents, and that was his early Christmas gift to me. It’s… interesting, but he loves it,” he smirks. “So, if you’re not here because of Roland, then what brings you up to the fourth floor?” 

“I have no power and I’m in desperate need of your blankets, if you can spare some. I have a few but it’s pushing almost 40 degrees down there and I’m just freezing.” 

Before he can respond, Roland bounds out from the back hallway, rushing across the room to crash into her legs. “Hi, Regi—” he stops, his eyes widening. “Hi, Roni.” 

She ignores his slip up and kneels down, wrapping him up in a tight hug. Whether she had anything to do with his father or not, Roni has a soft spot for the sweet boy that insists on chatting her up every time she sees him. He’s always been particularly clingy with her, telling her all about his day, bringing up all these dreams that he has. He talks about things that they’ve done, acts like he’s known her for most of his life and not just the few months that he’s lived above her in his new apartment, and it throws her each time he slips up and calls her Regina. 

Locksley always corrects him though, grips his shoulder tightly and makes Roland apologize. He swears that it’s just an accident, that they had a neighbor a few years back that looked like her and her name was Regina, but she doesn’t let the uneasiness slide each time it happens. There’s something oddly familiar about the name, about Locksley and Roland and whatever weird, mysterious circumstance they’ve found themselves in. 

“Hello Roland,” she smiles, tickling her fingers into the young boy’s side. He’s 7, had just celebrated his birthday three days before on December 18th. The boy had run around their apartment building the entire day, a silly green hat with a red feather sticking out secure on his head, a toy bow and quiver over his chest. He had these little arrows with suction cups on them, had spent the afternoon hopping on the furniture in the lobby of their building and shooting them at the windows and the doors of the elevator, harrowingly missing people as they stepped off. 

“You’ve all kinds of layers on,” he tells her, padding her well-covered arms. “Why? It’s toasty.” 

“My apartment doesn’t have any heat,” she tells him, glancing up at Locksley, then back down to Roland. “So I came up here to see if you and your Dad had any blankets I could borrow?” 

“Why don’t you just stay and play?” Roland suggests, shrugging his shoulders. “We’re makin’ hot chocolate and watchin’ a movie _.  _ You can stay with us!”

“I wouldn’t want to impose,” she tells Roland, breaking from where he’s tucked himself into her side to stand up. “I’m sure you and your Dad have a whole afternoon planned.” 

“It’s nothing that can’t be completed with a third person Roni, I promise you that. It’d be nice too, to get to spend some time with you. I know that Roland’s quite infatuated with you.” 

She’s about to make a quip that it’s not just Roland who’s smitten in this room, but suddenly the boy jumps up in front of her and tugs on her hand. “You’re the best,” the little man agrees, circling around her legs like a hyperactive puppy, slipping on his socked feet. “Please stay?” 

Before she can even get the whole word  _ yes _ out, Roland’s dragging her through their apartment, his hand linked in hers as he shows her around. 

.::.

God, she’s still as beautiful as they day he met her. 

Regina Mills, the gorgeous love of his life stood before him once more, her body wrapped adorably in her sweats, her hair shorter, the highlights accentuating the curls that he longed to run his fingers through. It’s been so long since he saw her, since he was able to kiss her and keep her in his arms, whisper love into her skin, make her gasp his name. She didn’t know though, doesn’t remember him or his son, doesn’t even remember her own name. 

There was no true reason he can find as to why he’d been brought to Hyperion Heights with Roland. The last thing he remembered was stepping between Regina and Hades’ bright blue magic, watching her face fall, and then… nothing. 

When he woke he was with his son, a little taller and a little older. Roland had told Robin of what had happened after his apparent death, how he had moved back to the forest and continued his adventures with the Merry Men, hoping that one day his Papa would return, until a cast of purple waves had washed over them back in the Enchanted Forest, and then he was brought here. He hadn’t been able to find John or Will, but from the looks of things not everyone had been brought to this new land, and he’s still not even sure why  _ he  _ was allowed back from his apparent death. 

There’s nothing wrong with Hyperion Heights. He feels for his son, the vast differences he’s had to go through at such a young age, but all in all he and Roland are happy here. Especially with a certain dark-haired beauty living one floor beneath them, even if she has no recollection of them. Roland hated it at first, insisted that Robin could fix this, that all of her memories would be restored with true love's kiss, but it wasn’t that easy. She should get to know him first so that the kiss actually means something, more than him sweeping her up in his arms and kissing a practical stranger. She hadn’t bothered to learn his name when she moved in a few months ago, had just taken to calling him Locksley, and he hasn’t bothered to tell her otherwise. Curses are tricky and he doesn’t want to do anything to push her or jeopardize the possibility of her memory returning so he’s taken to just waiting, trying to get to know her more and hoping that fate will take its course. 

He wants to kiss her all the time though, wishes that he could hold her, tangle his fingers into her tousled hair and draw his lips over the pale skin of her neck, but he can’t. He can’t tell her how much he’s missed her, can’t fulfil the dreams that they’d whispered about beneath the stars, can’t map her curves with his palms and bring her over that precipe with his lips. 

Instead, he’ll continue working his way into her life until the curse breaks, spend his days watching out for her, trying to get her to fall in love with him and hoping that she stays out of trouble. 

Roland’s got his hand securely in hers, tugging Regina through their apartment, pointing out all of his favorite things. He stops her in front of their Christmas tree, carefully removing the ornament with a wooden carved  _ 21 _ on it, pressing it safely into her palm. “Papa made all of these out of wood,” he tells her, guiding her back a little so she’s now sitting on their couch. “They’re my advent ornaments. Before we moved out of the forest, Papa and I would find fallen blocks of wood and he would teach me how to carve the dates into ‘em. My favorite is the one with the 18, ‘cause that’s my birthday. He made it special, and it has arrows on it and trees. We like the forest.” 

“I see that,” she smiles. “What were you planning on doing?” 

“Hot chocolate!” Roland cheers, bounding off of the couch and toward the kitchen. 

.::.

“What do you  _ mean  _ you don’t like marshmallows?” 

They’re both staring at her in disbelief, the bag of marshmallows forgotten in Locksley’s hand, Roland’s jaw slack. “They’re the best part of hot chocolate. You  _ have  _ to have marshmallows.” 

She grimaces but laughs at the two boys before her, the shock on their faces. “They melt funny and the consistency is off putting,” she shrugs, sipping her marshmallow-less hot chocolate, the warm liquid working it’s way down her throat. 

“They’re like  _ love! _ Why would you hate love?” Roland says, turning his attention and tugging on his father’s sleeve. “Papa, she doesn’t like marshmallows,” he says in disbelief. 

“I see that, my boy,” Locksley nods, his face feigning mock seriousness. “I’m not sure we can stand for that in our marshmallow-positive household.” 

Roland crosses his arms over his chest and shakes his head. “Nope.” 

“Hmm,” Locksley draws out, eyeing her once and flashing her a smile. She can’t help but laugh at them, the adorable father-son duo before her. “What do you think Roland? Shall we kick her out?” 

Roland shakes his head, his brown curls swishing back and forth against his forehead. “We aren’t  _ that  _ mean.” He turns his attention back to her, his eyes narrowing. “But… do you like to snuggle?” 

She chokes on her hot chocolate at that, bringing her hand up to cover her mouth. “Do I like… to snuggle?” she asks, trying to hide her laugh. Roland looks so serious about his question, his arms crossed over his chest, and Locksley is behind him, equally holding back his laughter. “I mean, snuggling is pretty great,” she smiles. “Does that make up for my lack of marshmallows in my hot chocolate?” 

Roland purses his lips, turning and nodding his head at his father. “I think we’ll let you stay,” he says, his face switching quickly to a smile. “But only if you at least  _ eat  _ marshmallows, and snuggle with us. If you don’t, I’m not sure you’re allowed to be in our family.” 

Family. 

It sets heavy in her chest as they move her back through the apartment, chatting aimlessly about the weather and their Christmas plans, asking her about what she’s going to do for the break. She has no plans, no family to spend the holiday with or Christmas traditions to continue but she doesn’t want to tell them that, doesn’t want to admit just how lonely she is all the time, so she tells them she’s headed south for the holiday to spend it with her Mom. 

Locksley eyes her carefully but doesn’t say anything, and she  _ knows  _ that somehow he’s seen through her lie, that he’s not calling her out on it for Roland’s sake, and she’s grateful. 

Roni follows them back through the hall and into the living room. She asks for the bathroom, heads in and carefully strips off her hoodie and one of the pairs of leggings that she has on, folding them into a neat pile. She slips out of the bathroom and silently drops her clothes on the table next to the front door, looking over the back of the couch at Locksley and Roland. 

They’re curled up against one another on the couch under the thick purple blanket, the beginning of  _ Home Alone _ on the television. She shouldn’t impose, should have just grabbed the blankets when she got here and gone back down to her cold apartment with her book and her wine, but then Roland pops his head over the back of the couch to look at her, one of the chocolate sprinkle donuts she brought shoved into his mouth, and she lets out a shuddering breath and a laugh. 

“C’mon R’ni,” he mumbles around the donut, hyperly bouncing on his knees on the couch. “We’re watchin’ Home Alone! It’s my favorite.” 

“Mine too,” she laughs, stepping around the couch. She heads toward the loveseat, giving them their space, when Locksley reaches out and takes her hand, a warmth spreading through her. 

“Sit with us.” 

“I—” she starts, shaking her head and shrugging her shoulders. “You two look so comfortable already.” 

“Right, come be comfortable with us,” he tells her, squeezing her hand, then slipping his hand out slowly so he can reach over Roland and lift up the blankets on the other side of his son. 

She stares at the empty spot for a moment and shrugs her shoulders, mumbling, “Why not?” before climbing up onto the couch, tucking her legs beneath her and taking the blanket from Locksley to drape it over her legs. Roland shifts himself so he’s settled up against her, his back pressed to her chest, his head resting on her collarbone. He’s got a tin of Spritz cookies in his lap and he takes out a purple one shaped like a crown and holds it over his head to her. “Try this,” he commands, his hand hovering while he waits. “They’re our favorites. Papa’s  _ really  _ good at baking cookies.” 

“Is that what I’ve smelled the past few days then?” 

Locksley grins sheepishly and shrugs his shoulders, reaching over to Roland to snag a cookie from the tin. “I’ve got to do something to pass the time.” 

They settle into a comfortable silence, watching and laughing as Kevin sets up the traps against Harry and Marv. Roland’s laughter rumbles against her chest, the cookies now long forgotten on the coffee table, and by the end of the movie he’s shifted so his head in his her lap, his feet pillowed in his fathers, and he’s sound asleep. 

And Locksley keeps  _ staring  _ at her. 

“What?” she asks, her hand carding through Roland’s hair, trying desperately not to stare back. He’s handsome, and so kind and sweet, and she’s nervous. She hasn’t been nervous in front of a man in years, usually has them crawling toward her with a sway of her hips or a flash of her skin, but he’s different. He looks at her like he knows her, like he sees past her hard exterior and knows each of her darkest secrets, and it terrifies her. 

“Nothing,” he tells her, smiling. “You just look really good.” 

She blushes, drops her head and slips her tongue out to lick her lips, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. “You don’t look so bad yourself.” 

“Here,” he says, shifting Roland’s feet off his lap. “Let me go put him in bed, and I’ll be right back, okay? Don’t go anywhere.”

He’s back a few minutes later and she’s off the couch, looking out the window as the snow blusters around them. “It’s beautiful,” she hears him as he steps up with her, his body warm behind hers. “I’ve always loved the snow. Back before we lived here, Roland and I used to spend a lot of time in the forest. Christmas was always his favorite. We’d sit outside and tell stories of Saint Nicolas around the campfire, watch the snow fall and have snowball fights with the men. The tent was cold, always was this time of year, but we knew how to stay warm.” 

Roni turns and looks over her shoulder. He’s so much closer than she’d realized, her right shoulder brushing against his chest as she shifts her body. 

“You’re a really odd person, you know that?” She asks, tucking her arms up against her chest, drawing her long sleeve closer to her. “You call me ‘milday’ and you lived in the woods, and your kid keeps calling me Regina. I don’t understand you two.” 

“I know. I’m sorry,” he tells her. He’s so close now, the scent of pine and the sugar cookies he’d made earlier radiating from him, surrounding her. It would take nothing for her to stretch up, to curl her hand over his shoulder and draw his soft, full lips against her own. 

So she does just that.

His hands come up and settle immediately on her hips as she presses a warm, slow kiss to his lips. His are so soft beneath hers and she melts into him, pushing her sleeves up so they don’t get in the way, her other hand coming up to cup his cheek. They part for half a second before he leans back in and kisses her more fully, sucking her bottom lip between his own, pulling at her soft, plump skin, his grip tightening against hers as they kiss and kiss against the window. 

He presses her against the cold glass, his hand coming up to tangle in her short hair, angling her head, his other hand squeezing the curve of her hip. She sighs and opens up for him, her tongue pushing into his mouth, swiping over his own, her hands clutching at his shoulders as she stretches up onto her tiptoes, trying to get closer to him. 

They finally break off the kiss minutes later, her forehead pressing against his, her chest heaving as she tries to catch her breath. 

“Regina,” he gasps, his chest pressing tightly against hers with each labored breath, his hands careful as he caresses her hair. 

“Why do you call me that?” she chokes out, her voice desperate, her bottom lip trembling. He’s so close to her, his forehead pressed tightly to hers, his breath coming out in short puffs against her skin. Her heart is pounding in her chest, her palms warm against his cheeks, her brown eyes gazing into his gorgeous blues. 

“I—” he starts, but her eyes flutter closed and she decides she doesn’t want to know, doesn’t want to think about anything else except the feel of his beautiful lips on her own, so she stretches up and kisses him again, holding him steady against her. 

This time, though, a glowing golden warmth encompasses them, blasts in every direction from each of their hearts. It wraps around them and she feels his warm lips against hers, working her own in a way that she hasn’t felt in  _ so long _ , not since that fateful afternoon in the secret passage beneath Town Hall, when he promised her that  _ she _ was his future and kissed her for the last time. Not since moments before he was ripped away, shattered by a flash of blue light and a wisp of smoke, and her heart was completely broken along with it. 

Regina opens her eyes and stares into his.

And oh,  _ oh god.  _

_ Robin.  _


	7. The Seventh Day of Outlaw Queen




	8. The Eighth Day of Outlaw Queen

**_On the Eighth day of Outlaw Queen…_ **

Fine.  _ Fine _ . Regina can admit that she  _ might _ have a crush on Robin Hood. 

Maybe. 

But it’s nothing, really. It’s just a tiny inkling, a barely-there flickering of a thought that perhaps he isn’t  _ quite  _ as obnoxious as she originally thought. It doesn’t erase the fact that he still smells of forest, and he never cleans up that stubbled, scruffy jawline, and he always seems to be looking at her on the rare occasion that she  _ happens _ to glance his way, which she finds extremely annoying - doesn’t he have anything better to do than stare in her direction?

It doesn’t matter anyway, though. She can’t go making goo-goo eyes at him when there’s a viridian lunatic trying to destroy them all. Even if he does have the most adorable child in the realm, who seems to have a natural talent for pulling every single one of her heartstrings, just like her own son used to. 

But she doesn’t want to think about that right now. She  _ can’t _ \- it’s Christmas, her first one without Henry, and that thought is… well, it is far too painful to dwell on.

The holiday party had been Snow’s idea, of course. “We need to have some cheer around here,” the younger woman had argued, “We are  _ both  _ missing our children this Christmas, Regina, and we need something to lift our spirits.”

The Queen had vehemently protested, had argued, raged and threatened them all, but in the end she hadn’t been able to convince anyone else that the idea was stupid, and she’d been unanimously outvoted. 

God, how she hates democracy.

At least she looks good in red velvet and fur, which is what she’s elected to wear this evening, though she’s taken measures to avoid looking anything like a  _ sexy Mrs. Claus _ \- she doesn’t need any rumors of that nature circling around. Her gown is tight in the bodice, with a long flowing skirt and a black diamond studded neckline that dives deep down her chest, all the way to the bottom edge of her sternum. The bell-shaped sleeves, back of the neck, and edges of the dress are trimmed out in soft black fur, a beautiful swirling pattern etched into the velvet to give the gown a bit of dimension, and she’s elected to wear her hair down tonight. It’s been decades since her hair has been this long; it tumbles down her back, well past her shoulder blades in onyx-colored waves, and Regina had forgotten how heavy it is. She’s no longer used to how, when she wears it up, the weight of it pulls constantly at her scalp throughout the day, leaving her with throbbing temples and a sore neck that are honestly just not worth it - she has enough headaches as it is. Unlike Snow and David, (headaches number one and two, respectively), Regina never wears her crown. It’s a worthless bauble, just another silly representation of something she never wanted in the first place. Besides, everyone knows who she is and if they didn’t, she has much better ways of educating them than by wearing a metal headband. So tonight her thick hair is loose and completely unrestricted, falling into her eyes a little and hiding her distaste of the entire event while everyone else dances, and laughs, and thoroughly enjoys the festivities.

Especially those stupid Merry Men.

Just look at them, those... those…  _ barbarians _ . They’re the loudest, most raucous, most annoying troupe here, she’s sure of it. Their booming, masculine laughter infects her ears, their bawdy antics drawing her eye again and again from where she has sequestered herself against a large stone column, a large goblet of red wine in one hand - she won’t be caught dead with eggnog. She can’t help but to send them her most castigating glares - she’s certain they’ve broken at least a dozen plates, drank more than half of her cellar's worth of ale, and now they’ve taken it upon themselves to change the lyrics of the most popular Christmas carols into something so terribly naughty that even the dwarves look uncomfortable. 

Regina huffs her displeasure and takes a long drink of her wine. Oh, and  _ he’s _ staring at her again. 

The Thief. 

The blue-eyed, foresty-smelling, sticky-fingered outlaw who has probably pilfered the entirety of her treasury while they all frolic about like idiots simply because  _ it’s Christmas _ .

Little John grabs Robin’s shoulder and says something she can’t hear, to which Robin laughs heartily and looks away, so Regina takes the opportunity to look him over. God, maybe it’s the lighting, or the color of that cobalt blue tunic he’s wearing, or perhaps the fact that he cleaned up in the castle baths today and not the river for a change, but for some reason, he just… he looks… better tonight. Less… offensive. 

Another plate shatters nearby and she startles, immediately averts her eyes and pretends like she wasn’t checking him out. After a few seconds, however, the Queen realizes that no one is paying her any attention and she is indeed still alone, so she looks Robin up and down again and sighs. 

Oh hell, it’s Christmas, and she can at least be honest with herself today. 

Robin Hood is handsome. 

_ Really _ handsome. Like, really, deliciously,  _ stare at his lips for hours and wonder what his tongue feels like against yours _ handsome. 

Regina hasn’t felt the warm, slick slide of anyone else’s tongue against hers in ages. Idly, she wonders if the thief is any good at kissing, if he’s merely silver tongued when he speaks, or if he can put the muscle to better uses. That train of thought quickly leads her down a  _ very _ inappropriate path - one that has her thinking of all the ways he might use his tongue on her, or perhaps,  _ in _ her - and  _ oh gods _ , when did it get so hot in here? 

She downs the rest of her wine and stares into the bottom of her goblet for a moment, swirling the crimson remnants around slowly, watching intently as they coat the shimmering golden surface before pooling back in the center. It’s lonely here, in the Enchanted Forest, and for Regina, it always has been. She doesn’t know why she feels so disappointed about that now, though. While she aches for Henry with every passing second, she  _ expects _ that - she knew when she made the decision to let him go that her heart would hurt  _ forever _ over giving him up, and while that certainly plays a large part of her desolation, she’s well aware that that’s not the whole of what’s troubling her tonight. 

The truth is, Regina has never felt at home in this kingdom, she has never felt like she belonged, like she was appreciated. As she watches Snow and David dance and laugh, and Robin and his gang carouse and sing carols, she’s not sure she’s ever felt quite so out of place. She surmises that she should probably head up to her chambers, before her foul mood spreads and she starts to bring everyone down. Besides, if Snow catches on that she’s not having fun, god knows what lengths the woman might go to to try to make Regina have a “good time.”

There is the feeling of warmth at her lower back, and Regina immediately straightens, her head coming up with awareness -  _ who dares to be so bold as to lay an uninvited hand on her? _

“If it pleases Her Majesty,” the Thief’s voice is a low rumble just next to her ear, and it makes gooseflesh break across the fine hairs at the nape of her neck. “I’d like to volunteer my services in refilling her drink.”

“It does not,” she drawls quietly, then explains, “Someone has to keep their wits about them tonight.” She tries to put an air of condescension in her tone, but it ends up sounding more like a pout, and she cringes.

Robin laughs softly, still standing slightly behind her, his voice low and deep, and  _ much  _ too close to her. She can feel his body heat, can smell the scent of evergreens and earth and it… does things to her - makes a shiver run the length of her spine, makes the corner of her mouth try to curve up into a smile that has no right to appear there.

“While I don’t doubt that your skills at perception are something to be admired,” she feels his hand slide from her lumbar to wrap around her hip - bold, that - “why not let someone else stand guard for awhile? You’ve certainly earned a break.”

Her smile falls. “I’m not standing guard.” she protests, “Just because I’m not making an ass of myself doesn’t mean I’m not having a good time.” It’s defensive, even to her own ears. “And I swear to god, if you sing another goddamn Christmas carol…” she cuts herself off. She’s being a bitch and she knows it, but she can’t seem to help herself. She didn’t want to have this stupid party in the first place. 

The hand Robin has at her hip squeezes softly, then releases her, and a tremendous, unwanted feeling of loss oozes through her veins. 

“I apologize for that,” from the corner of her eye she sees him duck his head, and when he speaks he sounds truly sorry. “The lads aren’t used to being in the presence of a lady. I’ll remind them to keep their language to something more suitable for Her Majesty’s ears.”

And that… wasn’t at all what she expected him to say. 

Regina thought for sure that he’d challenge her, that he’d tease her or tell her to lighten up, to get over herself and let them have their fun. She was looking forward to that, to sinking her teeth into a verbal disagreement with him, to getting good and mad and arguing until they’re both red-faced and fuming, like they always do. 

But gone is the rude, boorish outlaw she is so used to interacting with, and even though her cheeks are flushed pink, her heart is pounding, and her hands have just the slightest tremble now, it’s certainly not anger she’s feeling. 

He’s being kind to her. Attentive, respectful, and dare she say,  _ chivalrous? _

Butterflies erupt low in her belly and she takes in a quick breath. Oh god.  _ Don't you dare do this, Robin Hood. Don’t turn out to be a nice guy. It’s Christmas, for god’s sake. Please don’t do this. _

Robin steps around and she can see his face now, can see that his blue eyes are bright and clear, that though his cheeks are pink, he’s obviously sober, even though he’s holding a glass of red wine in his hand. She didn’t think he was a wine person, she’s only ever seen him drink ale or whiskey, and when she tilts her head to the side and motions toward the glass, he gives her a sheepish little smile and shrugs. 

Then it dawns on her.  _ Oh. _

Robin has brought that wine for her, he’s  _ planned  _ his trip over here to talk to her specifically. He hasn’t just stopped by on his way through to speak with someone else, he actually  _ wants _ to be in her company, and he was thoughtful enough to figure out what she was drinking and bring her a refill too.

Oh, no. He’s getting nicer by the second. 

“Would you care for a dance?” he tries again, and a wave of embarrassment crashes through her.

“Um,” she hesitates, because she can’t dance - not at all - and she doesn’t want to tell him that, but she doesn’t want him to go away either. “I’m sorry, but I don’t have the right shoes for dancing.” She makes up the excuse, hoping he won’t think she’s trying to send him off.

Robin just smiles softly at her, his eyes sweeping over her face as if he can read her every thought. It’s unnerving, and she ducks her head, tucks her hair nervously behind her ear and smooths her suddenly sweaty palm over her skirt, suddenly wishing she had more wine in her goblet.

“On second thought, I  _ would  _ like that refill,” she gives him a small grin, looking up from beneath her lashes, feeling more like an innocent teenager than the Evil Queen of the Enchanted Forest. 

The broad smile Robin gives her in return makes her stomach positively  _ flip _ .

He takes her goblet and carefully transfers the wine, not spilling a single drop, to which he smirks and credits, “A good thief’s hands have got to be more than sticky, milady.”

She doesn’t correct him for his improper use of  _ milady _ . Instead, she stares at his hands, at his long, thick fingers - her pulse accelerates - and she hears herself ask coyly, “Such as?”

“Well,” his tone drops an octave, “For one, a thief’s hands have got to be steady.” He sets down his empty glass and passes her back her wine, their fingers brush, his stroking lightly across the back of her thumb, and she swears she feels a little spark of electricity pass between them. Is she mistaken, or is he suddenly standing closer? 

“And they’ve got to be quite dextrous,” he continues, reaching for a lock of her hair and twisting it around and around between the pads of his fingers, “you know, for slipping carefully in and out of… all those pockets.” His eyes are full of heat and mischief, and Regina tugs her bottom lip between her perfect teeth as she tries (and fails) to stop from smirking at him.

_ God, _ he’s handsome.

“What else?” she prompts, raising a finely arched eyebrow, her hand coming up of its own accord to play with the cuff of his sleeve while he continues to twirl and stroke his fingers down the long strands of her ebony hair.

“Strong,” he rasps, and oh, he’s so close to her now,  _ inappropriately _ close, their chests almost touching, his face centimeters from hers. All she’d have to do is lean forward a tiny bit and she could easily nudge his nose with hers, or press her lips to his, or brush her soft cheek against his rough, stubbled one. “We thieves consider stamina to be of the utmost importance,” he whispers, his other hand raising to tip her chin up, the pads of his fingers running lightly along the edge of her jaw as the tips of their noses bump.

She stops playing with his sleeve and wraps her fingers around his wrist in warning, effectively stopping his movements, but oh, it’s terribly ineffective at calming the way her heart soars when she raises her eyes back to his and he’s staring intently at her lips. Robin’s lips part and she can feel his warm breath against hers, then he slowly, carefully, brushes his nose against hers and she feels herself reacting, wanting, leaning in, her eyes closing – 

A plate shatters and they both jump, though Robin’s hand slinks around to cup the back of Regina’s neck, where he rubs soothingly. His touch, his attention feels so good, so loving, that she almost falls back into their little moment, but the Merry Men decide to start up another x-rated Christmas carol - this time she overhears the change from, “eight maids a-milking” to “eight maids a-sucking,” and it breaks the mood between them. Robin laughs softly, his warm breath caressing her lips before he says “I’d better go and correct that, yeah?”

Regina tries to speak but her voice catches, and she’s forced to clear her throat before she tries again. “Yes, that’s… that’s probably for the best.”

Robin’s hand slips from her neck, his fingers stroke slowly down the length of the lock of her hair he’s still holding, until it slips entirely free of his grasp and he starts to step back. Her fingers are still wrapped around his wrist though, and they seem to realize it at the same time, both glancing down to watch when he twists their hands so that for a moment, he’s holding hers gently in his. 

When yet  _ another _ plate shatters from the direction of the Merry Men’s table, followed by a roar of boisterous laughter, the Queen automatically scowls. Robin gives her a sheepish grin, and then, with a squeeze of his fingers, he’s off to wrangle his gang.

Snow sidles up to her not ten minutes later with a knowing smile that Regina positively  _ hates _ .

“What?” she snaps.

“Oh nothing,” Snow sips her mug of eggnog and plays innocent. “Are you enjoying the party, Regina?” 

“It's fine, thank you,” she mutters, rolling her eyes and taking a long drink of her wine. 

“Robin Hood looks nice tonight,” the Princess comments, nodding towards the far end of the hall. “Who knew he’d clean up so well?”

Regina resolutely does  _ not _ look in the outlaw’s direction and replies, “I hadn’t noticed.”

“No?” Snow asks, sounding surprised, earning an annoyed glare from her step-mother. “Well, Belle certainly seems to have noticed.”

“What?” the Queen’s head snaps up, and her dark brown eyes start sweeping the hall for the bookworm, trying to pinpoint the tart amongst the writhing mass of people. 

“Oh yeah. I think she might even have a crush on him, and who can blame her? He looks great in that blue tunic, don’t you agree?” 

Snow sounds much too victorious for Regina’s liking, but she can’t be bothered with that right now -  _ where is that damned librarian? _

“Oh look!” Snow gasps excitedly, clapping her hands, then pointing. “They’re under the mistletoe!”

Regina’s intense gaze immediately follows the direction her step-daughter is indicating, and her eyes widen as she watches Belle touch Robin’s arm, smile sweetly and say something to which he laughs at.

Her blood  _ boils. _

How  _ dare _ she. Just who does that girl think she is, getting so familiar with Robin Hood? Belle already has a man, er, she has a beast of her own - and what, she doesn’t like green scales anymore? 

Well that’s just too damned bad. 

Regina is moving, nearly running, before she makes the conscious decision to do so, anger and indignation motivating her, magic propelling her across the room much faster than is natural. Belle’s hand is playing with Robin’s collar when she gets to them, and the harlot is already raising up on her tip-toes, angling her head, moving in to try to kiss him - apparently the girl has zero self-restraint. 

Regina comes up on them in a flash and the words are flying from her lips without forethought, “Nuh-uh, I don’t think so.” Then, in a totally un-regal fashion, she literally shoves Belle out of the way, wraps her hands around Robin Hood’s neck, pulls his head down and kisses him with everything she’s worth.

He makes a surprised noise against her lips, but it instantly morphs into a soft, low groan. Robin wraps one arm tightly around her waist, his fingers flexing softly against her hip, and raises the other to thread through her thick, heavy hair, holding her face to his as they move their lips against each other’s. 

It’s perhaps the most breathtaking kiss of Regina’s life. The sweet press and pull of their lips is a smooth rhythm that quickly ramps up, their bodies naturally in sync, gravitating closer and closer until they’re totally pressed up against each other. The familiar scent of Robin’s cologne envelops her, the smell of the forest pleasantly disorienting and drawing her in, but still, Regina craves  _ more _ , so she tilts her head and flicks her tongue against his lips, needing to taste him. He immediately grants her access, and the slow, hot slide of their tongues playing against each other is much too erotic for the curious eyes around them, but she cannot seem to stop. He tastes vaguely of whiskey and caramel, and it’s sinfully delicious, causing her breath to catch and her body to press more closely into his. The Queen gives up coherent thoughts and gives into her baser instincts, her desire for Robin sweeping through her veins like wildfire, her grip on him tightening in reaction as if he might disappear right out from under her if she loosens her hold for even a second. 

Their lips part for a moment and they pull back, panting, to stare bewilderedly into each other’s eyes. But then Robin is drawing her back to him, his hands steady and confident, and she goes more than willingly, her knees weak with anticipation, her pulse fluttering erratically with the thrill of having his lips against hers once more. 

Regina cannot remember the last time she felt so enraptured with someone, so naturally comfortable, or even more surprisingly, so  _ safe _ , and dammit, it’s  _ Christmas. _ So when his lips claim hers, she doesn’t hesitate to wrap her arms more fully around his neck, and this time she lets herself fall for him, finally allows her blackened heart to bask in the love she feels with each brilliant kiss, after kiss, after kiss.

Somewhere behind Regina, in a room full of people making merry over the holiday season, Snow White and Belle French exchange a high-five and a knowing look. Then they leave the Queen and her Thief to kiss beneath the “mistletoe,” which is actually just a small bunch of garland they strung up at the last second to facilitate their plan. They suppose Regina can incinerate them later if she figures out it was all a set up, but it’s pretty obvious that at least for the near future, the Queen is going to have more interesting things to preoccupy her time.


	9. The Ninth Day of Outlaw Queen




	10. The Tenth Day of Outlaw Queen

**_On the Tenth day of Outlaw Queen…_ **

It was Christmas Eve in Storybrooke, and Regina was fully excited for the days to come. She used to not be a fan of the holiday. She let Mary Marget to host this big, albeit ridiculous, Christmas Spectacular at the elementary school, and there was a Christmas parade that they would put on in the streets of the town, filled with Christmas lights and hot cocoa (she always got one spiked with Kaluha, even if she sat outside of town hall with a scowl on her face).

Henry had lightened her holiday spirit tremendously, though. His first Christmas, she dressed him in this adorable green and red onesie dotted with Christmas trees, donned a Santa hat on her own head and whispered holiday stories to him beside their brightly lit tree. It was the first time since before she’d been wed to a man she didn’t love and trapped in that big castle that she had actually _enjoyed_ her holiday, and from that point forward, Christmas has been infinitely better. 

Now though, now she has a family twice as big. Robin and Roland moved into their home right before Thanksgiving, and after they had celebrated the holiday and stuffed themselves silly with turkey and all of the other delicious foods that she and Granny had made, it was officially time to start their Christmas traditions. 

December had passed by in a blur activities, holiday parties and Christmas pageants at the school, and they had actively participated in everything. Roland’s pure excitement over the lights and the snow was enough to cure what little Scrooge-like tendencies she had left, and Robin and Henry were more than willing to feed into the youngest’s antics and help in making this the best Christmas yet. 

When Christmas had been just two weeks away, the boys spent their time after school at the diner working on their presents. Roland had been adamant about getting them the best gift he could, with Granny’s help. His excitement throughout the holiday was addicting, but it was practically overwhelming on Christmas Eve. 

He woke early that morning, bounding into their room and bouncing on their bed like ten lords a-leaping, and then continued to spend the rest of the day asking about his presents, wanting desperately to open them. 

“But Papa, it’s Christmas!” Roland shouts, running around in circles in their living room. “Santa’s coming tonight and we gotta have all our presents opened so he knows that we’re here!” 

“That’s not how it works, my boy,” he tells him, scooping up Roland on his fifth lap around the coffee table, pulling him safely into his lap. “You have to wait it out, just like all of the other kids in the world do. I can promise you, tomorrow will get here, just as every other day does.” 

“But it’s so far away,” Roland groans, throwing his head against Robin’s chest. 

Regina and Henry laugh, curled up on the opposite couch together, her newly-teenage son’s head pillowed on her shoulder. Henry tells him, “Roland, Santa will come, I promise. But, it’s after dinner, and that means we’ve got to go to bed soon. Mom told me that if you don’t get to sleep early enough, that he might fly over and skip us.” 

Roland’s eyes go wide, and he sits up, his head narrowly missing Robin’s chin as he scrambles off of the couch and runs over, jumping into Regina’s lap. “He can’t!” 

“He might,” Henry shrugs, winking at his mother. “We don’t want to push it.” 

Roland squirms against her lap before finally settling down. “But I want you to open a present first. You said we can all open one on Christmas Eve.” 

“I did,” Regina nods, wrapping him up in a tight hug. “How about your Papa picks one out for you, and then—” 

“I have one! I want you to open mine too!” he calls out, pushing himself off of her lap and rushing over to their tree. Roland drops down to his knees and calls out for Henry to come over, and the two of them whisper back and forth together before pulling out two haphazardly wrapped gifts from beneath the tree. While they’re talking, Robin reaches beneath the tree and grabs the kids Christmas Eve presents then switches couches, drops himself down next to Regina and wraps his arm around her shoulders, pressing a kiss to her temple. 

“Open these ones,” Henry tells them. He’s got Robin’s present in his hand, while Roland has his arms wrapped tightly around one that’s for her. 

“They’re good ones,” Roland agrees, nodding his head firmly, his dark curls flopping against his forehead. They shove the presents into their laps and Roland tugs on Henry’s hand, his excitement obvious as they peel open the wrapping paper. 

“Oh,” Regina sighs, a bright smile spread on her lips. “It’s a—” 

“I knitted you a jumper!” Roland squeals, clapping his hands. 

It’s a jumper alright— a dark purple sweater, very obviously knit by Roland’s own hands, with a yellow R sewn in the center of it. It reminds her of the sweaters that the Weasleys all got in Harry Potter, and as she lifts it up fully from the wrapping paper and holds it in front of her, she falls in love all over again. Robin has one too, a red one with a matching yellow R in the center, and she eyes her own son and laughs at their children’s unabashed excitement as they open their gifts. 

“Wow.” 

She slips it on over her head, thankful that whatever yarn they used is a bit stretchy, because the proportions of the sweater are definitely off - the sleeves not quite the same length, the neckline slightly askew, the hem curved along the bottom - it’s… well, it’s perfect.

Robin puts his on too, and Regina can’t stop grinning. They look absolutely ridiculous, nothing like what she has grown accustomed to over the years in her designer dresses, suits, and heels, or even her Queen’s gowns, but this is so much better. Homemade gifts from her children, well, that’s more than she ever thought she’d have, and she can almost feel the black of her heart healing back to red from it. 

“Do ya like it?” Roland asks, climbing up onto the couch between them. 

“Love it,” Robin tells them, wrapping an arm around him and pulling him snugly into his lap. “You boys have outdone yourself.” 

Roland and Henry both beam, their smiles contagious. Henry squeezes himself on the couch beside Regina and both of the boys receive their presents, matching flannel pajamas, both with a patch sewn of the front pocket that represents them— Roland’s with a bow, and Henry’s with a book. 

After that they quickly clean up the wrapping paper and huddle back onto the couch at 8, with  _ Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer _ playing on the television. They’ve got a big blanket over them, Henry’s head pillowed on her shoulder, Roland’s small body curled up and his eyes softly shut as he sleeps soundly on Robin’s lap. 

“Looks like it’s time for bed,” Regina whispers, nodding to Roland and reaching up to cup the back of Henry’s head, the feel of his steady breathing against her side. “He’s out cold.” 

“So’s yours,” Robin whispers back, shifting Roland carefully until he’s in a reasonable position for Robin to stand. “Want me to take Henry up too?” 

She shakes her head, stretching her arm carefully around Henry. “I’ve got him. He’s almost too big for me to do this anymore.” 

When Robin disappears up the steps with Roland she takes a moment, pressing a kiss to Henry’s head before slowly stirring him awake. 

“Come on, sweetheart,” she whispers, smiling softly when he grunts and rubs his eyes. 

“S’mornin?” He asks. 

“No, it’s time for bed.” 

Henry nods and she helps him up from the couch, carefully walking him up the stairs, then down the long hallway with her arm around his shoulders and into his room. Even if he is her new teenager he’s still her little boy, and she sits far too long on the edge of his bed, watching as his chest rises and falls with each even breath. 

“You alright, darling?” 

She looks up at Robin leaning against the doorway, his arms crossed across his chest.

Regina nods and smiles, padding across the room and putting his hand on her chest, carefully pushing him out of the room and shutting the door behind him. “Christmas makes me soft,” she shrugs, leaning up to press a kiss to his lips. “Roland go down okay?” 

“Out like a light. I think all the excitement of his new pajamas wore him out.” 

She grins, planting her hand to his sternum and slowly pushing him backward toward their bedroom. 

“And what about his daddy?” she asks, lowering her voice and lifting an eyebrow, “Is he worn out from too much excitement, or do you think he still has some energy left in him?”

Robin’s eyebrows jump up and he grins, the lines around his bright blue eyes crinkling handsomely as his calloused hands find her hips and he obligingly starts to tug her backward with him. “Oh, I’ve plenty of energy.” His eyes drop to her lips and then lower, but he chuckles softly just as they get to their bedroom door.

She looks down and can’t even blame him - she’s still wearing her Christmas sweater, as is he, and while festive, they aren’t exactly the most conducive outfits for their usual methods of seduction. Good thing she has something better on underneath.

Regina places her hands on each of his shoulders and gives him a playful little shove up against the door, pressing her body against his and slipping her hands up under his sweater. Her fingers trace his ribs while she runs the bridge of her nose along the edge of his jawline and presses a long, hot kiss to the corner of it before she whispers in his ear, “Want to unwrap your present?”

“Gods, yes,” he breathes, his hands circling her hips to her lower back and drawing circles there, inching up her sweater with the motions.

“Hm, best to do it behind closed doors,” she advises, sucking wet, open-mouth kisses down the side of his neck, his stubble rough under her lips and tongue. “We wouldn’t want to be put on the naughty list so close to Christmas now, would we?”

Robin makes this hot little groan as one of his hands leaves her and fumbles with the bedroom door knob, the other sliding down to grab a handful of her ass, and Regina smiles against his neck. God, she loves doing things like this with him, loves not caring when her flirting with him sounds silly or cliche. From the first time they kissed he has constantly matched her desire, has never made her feel like she’s forcing him into anything, never made it seem like she’s influencing him with her power or like she’s controlling him. He’s the only man since Daniel to make her feel like this - to make her feel like a woman and not the Queen, not the Witch, not the Mayor, even. Robin gives her the freedom to completely be herself, to let go and just be  _ Regina _ when she is with him, even when that means being silly and naive and young at heart.

He pulls her into their bedroom and immediately turns the tables, pushing her up against the inside of the closed door and kissing her hard, his hands threading in her hair, hot tongue in her mouth, hips slotting against hers as he leans down into her. It’s a good kiss, a  _ damn  _ good kiss, and fuck, she wants more, needs more  _ right now. _

Regina grabs for the hem of his sweater and tugs it up and off, and then they’re pulling at each other’s clothes, a race to undress as they stumble towards the bed in between kisses and wandering hands. Robin yanks her leggings down, starts kissing his way up her inner thighs as she scratches her nails lightly along his hairline, her pulse  _ hammering _ in anticipation, his excited, “ _ Oh Christ _ ,” upon seeing her matching dark red velvet lingerie with the little Christmas trees etched into them making her smirk - he’s  _ so easy _ to get riled up. He’s just starting to shimmy her panties down, his mouth sucking hot kisses along her hip, the crux of her thigh, then further and further inward as her stomach quivers under his caress, when her ears pick up the tell-tale  _ thump-thump-thump-thumping _ of little feet positively flying down the hallway, and she gasps, “Robin, did you lock the door?”

“Hmm?” he asks, far too distracted as he runs his tongue along her bikini line and she grips the edge of their bed frame. 

“Door, Robin, did you lock it? Roland—” 

“No— shit, shit,” he scrambles from his knees, twisting quickly across the floor, grabbing the sleeve of her sweater and pitching it up in the air toward her. She catches the hem of it and tugs it on, scrambling to grab the edge of her panties and her leggings, tugging them up quickly over her legs, and Robin makes it to the door in his boxers just as Roland throws their bedroom door open. 

“Papa! I heard jingle bells!” Roland shouts, throwing himself into Robin’s arms quickly. “Santa’s here!” 

“He’s not,” Robin tells him, scooping him up and turning his back so Roland can’t see Regina, giving her enough time to situate her clothes. “We told you, you’ve got to get to sleep. You  _ were  _ asleep.”

“But Santa!” he yells, squirming until Robin has no choice but to let him go, and the boy bounds across the room like a hyper puppy and launches himself at Regina. “I heard his bells and something on the roof! He’s here and now we can start Christmas!” 

“Roland, honey it’s too early for Santa to get here. It’s only 9:30, and Santa is on the other side of the world right now giving presents to all the boys and girls that are in England. And if you don’t go to sleep right now, then Santa’s not coming.” 

His eyes widen and he shakes his head, patting his hands against her shoulders. “But he has to come! He’s gotta eat our cookies and drink the milk and the reindeer won’t get their carrots! What if they go hungry?!” 

“We won’t know if you don’t go to bed. Now.” 

His bottom lip trembles and Roland buries his head into her shoulder, his lanky arms coming to wrap around her neck. “I’m too excited to sleep.” 

“I know, baby,” she whispers, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “But you have to.” 

“Can I sleep in here?” 

She shakes her head, shifting him so he’s wrapped around her and comfortable in her arms. “No,” she softens her voice, trying not to break under his sweet pleading. 

Robin reaches out to take him but she shakes her head, rubbing a hand soothingly up and down his back. “Let me take him back to his room.” She stops where Robin is by the door and leans over, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “Wait up for me?” 

“Always,” he smirks, squeezing her hip and kissing her again swiftly before she leaves the room. 

Roland squirms in her arms as she heads back down the hallway, and she circles her thumb over his soft pajamas between his little shoulders, trying to calm him. “I know you’re excited baby, but it’s important that you get your sleep. You don’t want to be so tired tomorrow that you can’t stay awake to play in the snow and celebrate Christmas with us.” 

“It’s so  _ hard _ to sleep though,” he sighs dramatically. “Can you read me a story?” 

“I can. And how about I do something even better?” 

They get into his room and she carefully deposits him in his bed, pulling the covers up and tucking him into them. She smooshes the blankets under him so he’s wrapped tightly like a burrito, tickling her fingers into his sides as he giggles. “Alright,” she whispers, sitting close to him and holding her palm out, a light purple hue emitting from her skin until a stuffed reindeer with a ruby red nose appears in her palm. 

_ “Wow,”  _ Roland whispers, reaching out to take the stuffed animal from her. “What’s it do?” 

“This Rudolph is  _ very _ special, okay? When his nose is glowing, like this,” she says, snapping her fingers and the nose illuminates his room, “that means you’re allowed to get out of bed. But if he’s still dark,” she says, snapping her fingers again, the light swiftly going out, “then that means that Santa hasn’t been here yet, and that if you get out of bed, he may have to skip over our house.”

Roland nods affirmatively, squeezing the stuffed animal tightly to his chest. “I’ll try,” he tells her, his eyes already struggling to stay open. “I’m startin’ to get sleepy.” 

She leans over and kisses the top of his head, whispering to him the beginnings of a story of a brave little boy and his older brother who had adventures in the forest, until moments later Roland’s breathing evens out and he’s finally asleep. 

She lingers for a moment, hesitant to move in case he wakes up again, but he shifts and curls up around the reindeer, and she’s sure he’s out for good this time. 

Regina carefully closes the door behind her, pads as quietly as possible down the hall and back into her bedroom, locking the door behind her. 

Robin is already under the thick, cushy covers of their bed and she strips quickly as she moves toward him, speaking softly, musing about how adorable Roland is, telling him about the reindeer she gave him and how they shouldn’t have any more interruptions tonight. Robin doesn’t reply but she doesn’t think much of it until she slips under the covers next to him, and... 

_ Damn _ . He’s asleep.

They had a big day today, running all over town doing Christmassy things, and she really can’t blame him for being exhausted. So instead of waking him, she settles in next to him, or more like,  _ on _ him, using his muscled chest as a pillow, snuggling up tightly against his big, warm body, sliding one leg over the top of his and slipping her arm over his abs until she’s thoroughly wrapped around him. Even in sleep he responds to her, his arm curls around her waist and his face turns to bury in her hair, breathing deeply, and Regina tries hard to stay awake, tries to soak in the warmth and magic that only Christmas can create. She listens to the steady drum of Robin’s heart beating beneath her ear, to the wind blowing outside her window, bringing with it huge flakes of snow to blanket the town. As her eyelids grow heavier and heavier, Regina could swear she hears the faint jingle of sleighbells and the clatter of hooves on her rooftop, but she chalks it up to Roland’s excitement and her own exuberant holiday cheer, and she falls asleep without giving it a second thought.

A few minutes later, down the hall where Roland is fast asleep, the little stuffed reindeer’s nose starts to glow.


	11. The Eleventh Day of Outlaw Queen




	12. The Twelfth Day of Outlaw Queen

**_On the Twelfth day of Outlaw Queen…_ **

“Robinnn,” Regina hisses, stomping her foot petulantly, “I’m a grown woman. I do  _ not  _ want to take a picture with Santa Claus.” 

He grins and steps behind her, both hands on her small waist, his fingers curling around her soft curves, his chin dropping down to rest on her shoulder as he presses his front to her back. 

“Now, now, Your Majesty,” he soothes, “You lost the bet, and this is how you’ve agreed to pay up.” She huffs her annoyance and he slides his hands around, stroking across the flat planes of her stomach as he nuzzles the side of her neck, the heady smell of her perfume invading his senses and making him dizzy with want. He kisses the corner of her jaw, “This will only take a moment, then it’ll all be over with.”

“Over with?” she gripes, “If I do this, it’ll live on forever. This picture will outlive  _ me _ . It’ll be all anyone will remember, Robin, not any of the things I’ve done for this town, good or bad -  _ no.  _ All anyone is going to remember about Regina Mills, the Mayor of Storybrooke, the Evil Queen, the Good Queen,  _ whatever _ , is the time she had to sit on Santa’s lap dressed as an elf, because she lost a bet to Snow-freaking-White.”

Robin tries not to laugh at her misfortune, but it’s really, really difficult. She looks so darling in her elf costume that he’s barely been keeping it together as it is - she’s just too bloody adorable for words. She has  _ huge _ fake pointed ears sticking up through her thick black hair, and a little green cap on her head, which happens to currently be cocked to the side just a bit, due to her incessant fidgeting with the ears. She’s dressed in a tight green blazer with great big peppermint buttons and a pleated skirt, with red and white candy cane stockings, and green shoes that are more like slippers - they’re of a felt material with a big brass buckle across the center, adorned by an enormous cotton stuffed toe that curls ludicrously up and around in festive elfly fashion. The shoes have absolutely no heel to them, so she looks outrageously short, her spine stick-straight as she strains to achieve every millimeter of her five-feet four and a half inches (she doesn’t actually hit five-feet-five, though she’d rather die than admit it). But the best part, the  _ very _ best part of the entire costume that Snow has forced her to wear, is the bright pink and purple extra sparkly glitter that adorns Regina’s cheeks.

Robin cannot help but chuckle every time he sees it. It’s just - she’s  _ way _ too cute with glitter on her face. Especially when she pouts and casts those big brown eyes at him while she begs him to save her from this humiliation that she’s gotten herself into. He almost considers it, almost scoops her up in his arms and plays the hero, almost whisks her away to the safety of the Mayoral Mansion, but then he remembers that he  _ promised _ Snow that he wouldn’t take sides - that when Regina challenged the other woman he said that he’d stay out of it, and he's nothing if not a man of his word. 

Truth be told, as much as he loves Regina, it’s her own fault for being in this position - she didn’t  _ have  _ to challenge Snow and David to that snowball fight. She should have known that her step-daughter would have decent aim, and well, who could honestly blame Regina’s partner for using her as a human shield? 

Roland is only five, for Christ’s sake.

No one can say that Regina didn’t go down without one hell of a fight, though. The flurry of snowy projectiles went on for far longer than anyone had expected it to, even with little Roland clinging to Regina’s back like a tiny koala joey, his snow hat pulled down so far he could barely see, just barely hanging on as the Queen ducked and darted across the city park in an attempt to gain some ground on the “un-Charmings.” They had banned her from using magic - citing an unfair advantage - but they hadn’t factored in her superior battle strategy, which in this case involved a variety of pre-planned booby traps such as trip wires, ice patches, and pitfalls for them to succumb to. The Queen had almost had them, too - David had successfully wedged himself in one of her shepherd-sized pitfall traps, of which he had absolutely no hope of wriggling out of, when Snow had finally gotten the better of her. With sniper-like precision, the Princess had aimed a snowball right for Roland’s head, and Regina had sacrificed herself to take the hit in his place. Regina’s favorite knight had been forced to accept his snowy defeat after that, valiantly laying across Regina’s prone form in protection as Snow delivered a gently thrown snowball to his boot, all while he shook his tiny mittened fist mightily at the Princess and fixed her with a glare that Robin had tried and failed not to laugh at. He attempted to rectify the situation later, tried to explain to his son that it was all just a game and that Snow was only playing with him and Regina, but Roland  _ still _ scowls when he sees her, and Regina’s sulking over their loss certainly hasn’t helped anything.

Roland tugs on his arm and Robin grins down as his son, who is in a matching elf costume to Regina’s, except that his has short pants and a red and white striped bow-tie. “Yes my boy?”

  
“Papa, I  _ hate _ this,” he whines. “My ears are itchy. And I don’t wanna wear this stupid hat. Or these stupid shoes.”

“ _ See _ ?” Regina chimes in. “This is  _ stupid _ .”

Robin laughs at them, then catches himself and puts on the most stern ‘father face’ he can muster. “Now stop that whining this instant,” he postures, straightening up. “You’ve lost, fair and square, and you’ve got to face the consequences of your actions. You’re up next, now, so let’s see it done, and then perhaps we’ll go and have ice cream as a reward for facing the music.”

“I don’t want ice cream,” Regina grumbles, stepping forward with the line.

“Me neither,” pouts Roland.

Robin rolls his eyes. “Come on you two, think of the holiday cheer you will inspire with this lovely photograph.”   
  


“This is  _ not  _ for holiday cheer,” the Queen grouses, curling her lip, “this is blackmail.”

“Yeah,” says Roland, puffing up his chest and matching Regina’s haughty tone almost exactly. “S’blackmail.” He turns to her and tugs on her sleeve, and in an exaggeratedly loud whisper, Robin overhears him ask her, “Wha’s blackmail, Mum?”

Regina shoots Robin a  _ very _ smug look and tells Roland, “It’s when I do something because your Papa wants me to be  _ nice _ , and then Papa has to make it up to me later.”

Roland furrows his eyebrows, her purposely skewed concept a little too much for him, but he nods anyway and says, “Ohhh,” as if he gets it. Then he shrugs it off, shakes his foot in annoyance - the big curling toe of the elf-shoe flapping wildly back and forth - and says, “I  _ hate _ these shoes.”

“Me too,” Regina agrees. She thinks for a moment, and then gives him a mischievous look that Robin instantly recognizes, flashes her dark eyes at Roland and suggests, “When we’re done here, let’s burn them.”

Roland hops up and down and screams, “Yeah!” loud enough to attract the attention of several people around them, and Robin has to scold the two of them to behave.

They’re adorable little pyromaniacs. God, he loves them.

The picture doesn’t take more than five seconds to take - Regina and Roland both refuse to smile and instead wear matching scowls, their arms crossed as they sit on the poor actor’s lap, who has no idea why they’re in such foul moods. Robin takes a few extra photos on his phone when he’s sure they’re not looking, because he can’t help himself - they’re just too bloody cute for only Snow to get a memento of, and he’ll gladly suffer the consequences if Regina finds the photos later. 

By the time they return home, it’s later than Robin had expected - nearly eight in the evening - because the line to visit Santa had been incredibly long this close to Christmas. Apparently, the other children’s moms aren’t quite up to snuff with the magic-wielding queen Roland has, so they’d had a lot of requests for the old man that had dragged on for forever. When Regina pulls into the garage, Roland is fast asleep in his elf costume, his head lolled to the side, resting haphazardly against one of his fake pointed ears, so Robin carries him straight up to bed without waking him, and Regina concedes that they’ll just have to have their costume burning party in the morning, much to her chagrin. Robin gets their son tucked in for the night, carefully removing what he can of the costume - the shoes, hat, and ears, but the rest he leaves because he’s in a hurry to tease his wife a bit more before she changes, which he’s certain she’s doing as quickly as possible.

He rushes back down the hallway as soon as Roland is settled, double checks Henry’s room and sure enough, he’s not home - he’s supposed to be staying with Emma tonight and it appears that that plan has held true. Robin gets a zing of excitement and he continues toward his and Regina’s bedroom, noting the door is closed, but there is the faint glow of lamplight coming from beneath it. 

Oh, how he hopes he’s caught her in time.

He slips into their room and closes the door quickly to see Regina with one foot up on the edge of the bed, bent over at the waist as she rolls down one thigh high candy cane striped stocking, and suddenly, all the teasing he was about to direct at her suddenly gets caught in his throat. She has already kicked off her mad shoes, and apparently tossed her pointed ears clear across the room, but her little green hat is still in place, as is her vest and  _ very _ short skirt, and suddenly, the outfit isn’t quite so silly anymore. Suddenly, it’s… well, it’s rather fetching. It’s quite lovely. It’s, er, it’s got  _ teasing  _ taking on a whole new meaning.

“I cannot believe she had me stoop so low…” Regina mutters irritatedly to herself, unaware that Robin is behind her as she whips her sock off and hurls it at the floor. She raises her other foot to the bed and starts rolling the red and white stocking down. “To think that I,  _ I _ would put on such a moronic outfit, and, and, agh!”

Robin recognizes that Regina is only stuttering because she’s flustered; she’s clearly over-tired and still upset that she lost that ridiculous snowball fight.

“I think,” he says quietly, watching with amusement as her hands pause at her ankle, “you look brilliant.”

She sighs, “You always think that.”

“True,” he shrugs, staring at the way the back of her leg is stretched, the muscles in her calves and thigh taught and defined, her tiny skirt just barely covering the round curve of her shapely arse. By god, his Queen is gorgeous. He finds he has difficulty swallowing, his need to touch, to taste, to  _ be _ with her is already tightening his trousers, so he goes to her just as she tugs her stocking the rest of the way off, and with lightning speed, he slips around her and manages to slide his hand under her leg before she can set it back on the floor, tugging her to him and hooking her knee up around his hip instead. 

“This little outfit on you is  _ doing things _ to me, darling,” he confesses, leans in and teases her a bit, nudging her nose with his, tilting his head as if to kiss her, and smirking when her chin tips up and her lips part, but he doesn’t close the distance. Regina hums low in her throat and wraps her arms around his shoulders, one hand stroking up the back of his neck, her nails scratching along his hairline while she runs her foot up the back of his leg, drawing their bodies closer still.

“Is that so?” she asks, licking her lips, and cocking an eyebrow. “I didn’t know you had a thing for elves, my dear. How very kinky of you.”

Robin chuckles and runs his hand up under her skirt to squeeze her arse, fitting her more tightly against his hips as he says, “Mm, I’d say I have a  _ thing _ for you, my Queen, particularly in this deliciously short skirt.” He drops his mouth to her neck and presses his lips just under her chin, urging her to tip her head back, then dots a line of hot kisses down the smooth, soft column of her throat when she acquiesces. 

“I hate this  _ costume _ ,” she mumbles, the word ‘costume’ tumbling off her lips like a curse word. “It’s absurd. I look like the Queen of the Elves.”

Robin laughs with his lips against her collarbone, finally giving up that she’s not going to get into his attempt at role play. He reluctantly releases his hold on her perfect, plump arse and lets her leg drift to the floor, but he wraps his arms tightly around her waist while he brings his lips to her ear to whisper, “Then let’s take it off.”

She shivers against him, a quiet, “Mm,” her answer, but her fingers twist in his shirt, and then he feels the sweeping, wet warmth of her tongue tracing along his pulse point, the soft pulling suction of her lips that follows, and for a second he forgets what he was supposed to be doing. 

Her skirt. Costume. Off.  _ Right _ .

His typically deft fingers fumble with the zipper, and Regina snickers against his neck,  _ the bloody minx _ , but he gets it after the second try, and peels her skirt and knickers down without further delay.

“It’s a shame you’re in such a hurry,” she pouts, “I think you would have liked those panties on me, had you bothered to have a look.”

Robin glances to the floor and notes the bright red and white lace that’s peeking out from beneath the green of her skirt, and he hesitates, considering whether he should put them back on her. Those are some hot little knickers, and he  _ does _ want to see her in them.  _ Damn  _ his impatience.

“Too late now, Outlaw,” she murmurs, her hand at his chin, pulling his head back up so she can kiss him, her soft, thick lips pressing - then pulling - at his, her tongue almost immediately joining in. He feels her hands sliding down his chest to grasp the hem of his long sleeve t-shirt, and then she roughly yanks it over his head, barely pulling back to separate their mouths. Robin doesn’t mind her aggressiveness at all, it’s a perfect match to how he’s feeling. Her hands go for his belt next, but he can’t be bothered to help - he’s so caught up, aching for her lips and tongue, already reaching out and pulling her green cap off, threading his fingers in her hair, grabbing her by the back of the head and hauling her mouth to his for more deep, open mouthed kisses.

She gets his trousers open and shoves them down his hips, taking his boxers with them and grabbing two handfuls of his arse on the way back up, her nails biting into him just enough to make him jump. He groans into her mouth, his tongue stroking deep and swiping against the roof of her mouth, then he captures her bottom lip between his teeth and gives it a good pull, grinding into her a bit when she drags her nails from his arse all the way up his lower back and and rasps,  _ “Yes.” _

He loves it when she’s like this - untamed and unguarded. Regina so often holds back, is afraid of hurting him, he knows, she is always hyper-aware of her magic and sheer power. But he’s never been afraid of her, and it has taken them a long time to get to this point, to where she can trust herself in his care and just feel, just react as she wants. She has trusted him, it seems, since day one, since she placed her heart in his palm and asked him to protect her, but it’s her trust of herself when she is with him that breaks him, that drives his love and desire for her through the roof, that makes him so insanely protective of her, makes him wrap her tightly in his arms and whisper all those sweet nothings that cause her to blush and fidget and call him an idiotic hopeless romantic, but of which he knows she cherishes every word.

Robin kicks his pants the rest of the way off and dips down, grabs Regina by the back of the thighs and picks her up. She’s so small - has such a large presence in everyone’s life but in reality she really isn’t a very big person at all - and she automatically wraps her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck. He thinks of taking her to bed then reconsiders, wanting to give her something more, knowing the bed is too slow and sweet of a venue for the fire that’s burning in his belly and in the wake of the red scratches she’s already made up his back. 

When he strides quickly toward the nearest wall and she makes a low, excited, “Oooh!” in his ear, then bites the top of his shoulder, he knows he was right. His woman wants it  _ rough _ tonight.

It’s only when her back hits the wall and she makes this hot little, “ _ Oof! _ ” that he realizes she’s still got her vest on, so he braces her as best he can and gets to work on those silly peppermint buttons, shoving them through the holes as fast as possible while Regina tries to drive him out of his mind. She’s got her arms locked around his shoulders but she’s doing sinful things with her lower half, taking advantage of his muscular thighs to work her body on him, rolling her hips against him, rubbing her slick, hot core over his rigid length, which happens to be trapped between them. 

He’s having a hell of a time with the buttons though - they’re too large for the holes on the vest, so they don’t want to release, and it’s taking forever, which is sweet, sweet torture, because his wife is giving him absolutely no mercy. She’s grinding on him, has started up this quick little rhythm, rubbing her clit against his shaft, which is coated in her slick arousal now, so that she slides effortlessly along it. She could easily drop her hand and position him - could line him up and take him inside of her but she isn’t, and he knows she’s doing it on purpose, that she’s doing it just to rile him up and make him shake with desire. Her mouth is all over his chest, shoulders and neck, nipping and licking and sucking, and she’s making these little huffs and high pitched gasps, and he -  _ Christ _ \- he can’t concentrate on these  _ blasted buttons. _

“Rip them off,” she pants, rubbing herself on him, her hips making a smooth swirl then going back to that quick up and down rolling motion.

“I’ve almost got it,” he argues, biting his lip and trying not to think about how the head of his cock is throbbing, how he can feel it dribbling a bit of precum, how his balls feel heavy with the need to fill her with his release. 

“Hurry,” she demands, shifting her body higher on him. He makes the wonderful mistake of looking up at her face and loses his breath with her beauty because -  _ Christ _ \- her dark hair is falling in her eyes, her neck and cheeks are flushed, most of the glitter is gone now and she just looks like she’s  _ shimmering _ . Good god.

Regina runs her nails up the back of his head and scratches through his hair, kisses him roughly, nips his bottom lip, his chin. She sucks frantic, wet kisses along his jaw all the way up to his ear and growls, “I need you,” she’s panting, “to tear this fucking costume off and fuck me, dear.”

Robin grins. She is his Queen and his wife and his soulmate - and so very much more - and when she gives an order, he is happy to obey.

He brings both hands to the center of her vest, grabs a handful of green material in each hand, and (with probably too much strength) he  _ rips _ the fabric apart. She laughs in delight - a sexy, throaty sound - as peppermint buttons fling in every direction. One button hits him right in the cheekbone but he barely registers it because then he’s yanking the garment down her arms and off, followed quickly by her bright red lace bra, which he’s definitely going to need to spend some time admiring on her along with her matching knickers someday soon, but today is just not the day.

And then Regina is beautifully, gloriously naked against him.

Robin groans at the vision before him, because that’s what she is - a  _ vision _ \- all flushed and lustful and ready for him. He’s on fire for her, can’t wait much longer to take her, so he drops his hand between them and runs his fingers over her core, knowing she’s wet but making sure anyway - she is a lady and he’ll always treat her as such, though he smirks at the way she inhales so quickly when he teases the tips of his fingers along her entrance. He circles her sensitive flesh and slips two fingers carefully inside of her, reveling in the way her back arches sharply, loving how she shoves herself down on his fingers without regard. He gives her a few easy, deep strokes but that’s all he can take - he’s aching,  _ so hard _ for her, and he knows she prefers his cock anyway. He slips his fingers out, kissing the pout from her face at the loss, and quickly replaces them with his cock, pressing the smooth, thick head against her and sinking in slowly, latching his lips onto her neck when she drops her head back against the wall and arches her body. A soft, “Mnnhh” slips from the back of her throat when he grabs her hips and pulls her swiftly down onto him, her fingers digging into the tops of his shoulders, and he doesn’t give her any time to adjust - he’s big but she’s used to taking him - he keeps her thoroughly fucked, and they’re both too needy to go slow tonight.

He thrusts deep and smooth, his hands under her thighs, pulling her to him, over and over. This is heaven, she’s bloody perfection, and as he drives into her, he tells her as much. 

Regina links her hands behind his neck, looking down between them to watch where he’s fucking her, her voice abnormally high pitched as she gasps, “Oh my god, oh my god.” 

Robin watches her watching them, and it’s fucking hot - the way she’s unashamed, the way she licks her lips in desire and moans softly, the way their own image turns her on, makes her clench on him and bite her swollen bottom lip. He stares at her bouncing tits, so full and plump and round, her dusky little nipples hard with her arousal,  _ god _ . He wants to touch them, to lick and suck on them, but he can’t do that in their current position, and well, that’s just not fair. So he speeds up for a few strokes, rails into her with vigor until she’s barely holding on, then he pulls out and hauls her body flush against him and stumbles away from the wall. He backpedals until his knees hit the bed, and they fall, with her body braced over his, and those luscious tits are right in his face.

Much better.

He leans up and captures her right nipple between his lips, giving it a nice suck, then swirls his tongue around the hard little tip. His heart is positively pounding, thumping against his ribs like twelve drummers drumming, he can barely catch his breath, his hands shaking with excitement, oh, how this woman works him up. He gives her other nipple the same treatment, sucking long and hard on it, teasing the peaked little tip, reaching up to pinch and pull at it’s twin while he does it, and Regina’s arm shakes, then buckles in reaction. Robin laughs, slides his hands down her back and grabs a firm hold of her arse, spreading her cheeks wide as he positions himself and thrusts back into her.

Their faces are close and Regina kisses him, her dark hair curtaining down to tickle the sides of his face while one of her hands strokes his cheek sweetly, their hips rocking slowly, slowly,  _ slowly _ . She adds this little rotation that works his cock a bit deeper in her, and her mouth drops open on a quick intake of breath, which gives him the opportunity to kiss along her chin and the sharp edge of her flawless jawline. She’s so tight and wet,  _ god _ , he never gets used to it, and the way she moves her hips - that little swivel and sway she does - well it’s nothing short of sublime. 

There are moments, moments like this, where he feels weightless, dazed, like he’s in a dream. They’ve been together for quite some time now, but it still seems surreal that he’s the one she’s chosen, for whatever reason - be it pixie dust, second chances, true love, a Christmas miracle or what have you - Robin doesn’t really care. What matters is that they’re together, that they’re in love and that she’s as devoted to him as he is to her. How he went from being just some drunken thief in a bar, to being loved by the most beautiful woman in all the realms he has no idea, but it must certainly be something more than luck.

He doesn’t even realize it but he’s already starting to move faster, caught up in the euphoria of being with her, excited, driven by his emotions and his burning desire to please her. “That good darling? This what you need?” he checks in as he thrusts up into her, his grip tight on her arse, working her up and down, wanting her to take it deep, to give her as much pleasure as possible. 

She hums in response - the Queen is not a big talker, not usually, not unless she’s really worked up or a bit drunk - then her mouth is gloriously  _ filthy _ \- and she shifts so that she’s sitting upright, bracing her hands on his chest. He groans and nearly closes his eyes because -  _ god _ \- she’s  _ too _ gorgeous to look at without instantly coming, and he needs to hold out for her, needs to fight the climax that’s got the tip of his cock throbbing inside of her already. Robin tears his eyes from where they’re joined, drags them up the smooth planes of her stomach, over her exquisit tits, and finally meets her almond eyes, and  _ fuck _ , she’s smirking at him - she clearly  _ knows _ how close he is. He has a moment of panic, almost flips her on her back in an attempt to take control, but then he realizes that from the way she starts bouncing on him with her nails digging into his chest, with the way she’s soaking his thighs with her arousal, she’s close too, and he can get her there if he can focus for a few more seconds.

Robin reaches up and palms her breast, pinches her nipple between his thumb and forefinger and tugs, twists and flicks the sensitive tip as she moans and works her hips faster. He moves his other hand to the apex of her thighs and thumbs her swollen clit rapidly, bends his knees so he can thrust up into her. Regina makes desperate little  _ Ahhs! _ and  _ Mm!’s _ and  _ Yes!’s _ for him between parted lips, tips her head back and reaches behind her to hold tightly to his thighs, her body bracing as he gives it to her  _ hard _ and fast, his abs and legs on fire with the effort. It’s all worth it though, because it only takes a few seconds for her to come, her hips jerking wildly against him and grinding down while he continues to rub vigorously over her clit. Then suddenly she gasps, her hips buck passionately and she cries out, “ _ Fuck! _ ” - her nails dig into his legs and her hot wetness floods them -  _ Christ  _ he loves when she comes like that - and he’s so turned on, he can’t hold back anymore, her tight erratic spasms around his cock feel so good as she shudders and writhes and just totally fucking shatters. He finally spills within her, pumps her full of his release to the sounds of her encouraging him to do just that, her breathy moans of,  _ “Yes, yes, fill me, ohhh,”  _ the ultimate aphrodisiac as he groans, buries himself as deeply as possible inside of her, and holds her tightly down onto him by her hips. 

Robin’s just coming down to earth when she topples forward onto his chest, both of them shaking, breathless, and completely spent. He brushes her hair off of her neck, gathering it up, knowing the damp strands annoy her when they stick to her like this, and he sweeps them to the side so he can run his fingers across her skin. Regina makes a soft hum and shifts, splaying out more comfortably on him, but not bothering to move otherwise. He loves this about her, that she’s never in a hurry to run off. She loves the afterglow, likes to keep him inside of her, likes to stay wrapped up with him,  _ on  _ him, for as long as possible. 

She’s vulnerable in these moments - her true self exposed - really,  _ truly  _ naked with him. Robin once lovingly equated this version of her to a turtle without her shell (which at first earned him a  _ very _ affronted look, but upon his frantic explanation, also a bemused smile that she couldn’t quite deny). For this is the most unguarded she ever is, and it is when she tells him her deepest secrets. It’s when she’s told him she loved him for the first time, and when she told him she couldn’t conceive children; it’s when she told him how many hearts she’s stolen, and how many lives she’s taken. They’ve shared so many earth-shaking confessions during moments like this, that he decides asking for her honest opinion about tonight is not likely to ruin the mood.

“So,” he drawls, combing his fingers through her hair. “Do you still hate your elf costume?” he can’t quite stop the smirk from tipping up his lips.

She sighs dramatically, then eventually murmurs, “I suppose it has its’ uses,” against his sternum, dragging her fingers lightly down his chest. “But don’t dress up as Santa and expect me to  _ sit on your lap _ ,” she snickers.

Robin laughs along with her, and they agree that there are just some lines that shouldn’t be crossed. 

The End 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for reading! Have a Happy Holidays and please let us know what you think!


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